Unnoticeable
by LullabyKnell
Summary: Bilbo Baggins is Unnoticeable. Most hobbits are, actually. He just has the strongest knack for it in the history of the Shire, so much so that before he got a handle on his abilities, a few hobbits didn't even believe he existed. - This is the story of the adventure of an Unnoticeable hobbit who became Noticeable, and saved a company of dwarves along the way. IN PROGRESS
1. The Unnoticeable Baggins Family

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit or The LOTR, books or movies, or any of the places, characters, or ideas within them. I am receiving no profit from this and am doing this just for fun. If I did own it all, the Hobbit movies would have happened years ago and there would probably be a Tolkien themed area in a theme park somewhere. I mean, I can't be the only one who really wants to go on a barrel-themed raft ride and meet hobbit face characters right?_

* * *

**Chapter One: The Unnoticeable Baggins Family **

_A bit of background on hobbits, their abilities, and the Baggins family._

Hobbits are considered an odd folk by the rest of Middle Earth, though only by the parts of Middle Earth that ___know_ of their existence of course. Although the elves would probably say 'queer' or 'curious' perhaps, and the more uncouth men and dwarrows, if they had ___any_ idea was a '___hobbit'_ was, might have just said 'damn weird'.

If the hobbits were entirely aware of the strange rumours surrounding 'halflings' or the extent to which these rumours went, they did not pay much attention to them. This was for a number of reasons, but mainly two that made up most of the hobbit reasoning not to pay attention to the rumours.

Firstly, it was incredibly rude to call a hobbit 'halfling' and more than one merchant had found that calling a hobbit 'halfling' was a quick and sure way to lose hobbit trade and hobbit customers. The merchants learned quickly as merchants can be a cunning type, especially when it comes to 'potential profit', also known as 'people'. Most others, having little to no interaction with hobbits at all, did not have much opportunity to learn this lesson.

Most hobbits, when asked to confirm or deny a rumour about 'halflings' would demur and make polite conversation before saying goodbye without having answered anything or showing any sign that calling them 'halfling' was considered rude to hobbits. It wasn't a person's place to correct another person's manners after all.

That was rude.

And the 'big folks' wonder why hobbits rarely left the Shire when they were so incredibly and rudely forward with their, frankly, ___insulting _questions! And the name-calling! Hobbits were not ___half _of ___anything, _thank you very much! Anyone who called the hobbit folk 'halflings' should be shunned, ignored, or avoided if at all possible, and they were most definitely not getting any of their nosy questions answered!

Secondly, hobbits had very little interest or trust in 'big folk'. The 'good' big folk were bad already, and the 'bad' big folk, being orcs and goblins and such, were much worse. The 'good' big folk were often improper, impolite, disrespectful, and condescending at best and violent at worst.

Only the elves were tolerable and likeable with their graceful manners and healthy appreciation for growing things – of which the men had little and the dwarrows none – but elves were incredibly nosy still. And they were ___still_ some of the big folk. Their bigness was unfortunate and couldn't be helped, but was none the less not to be trusted. If only they were the ___right_ height instead of being so big!

None of the big folk except the elves and the occasional man had any respect for hobbits or hobbit culture. Was it so hard to understand the simple joy of a garden? Was it so greedy and gluttonous to enjoy your food and a good pipe? What was the problem with being a peaceful, simple folk?

Hobbits were hopelessly outmatched when it came to the field of war, so small and so weak. Fighting just wasn't a good or plausible option for continued hobbit survival. Much better for hobbits to concern themselves with fields of potatoes and turnips and such, all hobbits agreed.

So none of the big folk were ever likely to get their questions answered by a hobbit, because bigness was an untrustworthy aspect of a person no matter if it was something they could not help. It was better not to tell the big folk too much of anything really, it was easier and safer that way. Big and strong folk would never understand small and soft folk; it was as simple as that.

As far as the few 'experts' on hobbits in Middle Earth – who were ___not _hobbits but consisted of mainly of a handful of Rangers, a handful of elves, and a wizard or two – could say, there were three main points to know about hobbits and one more thing that was important to know and somewhat unique. And all of these things to know made hobbits seem like either idiots or odd.

Hobbits liked things that were green, food, family, involved drinking or smoking pipe-weed, and the comfortable things that made up a simple life. They ate quite a lot; seven meals. Much too much, most big folk would say. Although the hobbits would simply argue that everyone else just ate too little; but the argument probably wouldn't last long before the hobbits had to break for a meal.

Hobbits did not like things that were big, violent, disrespectful, or took them away from their comfortable homes with their comfortable things and their family and gardens.

Hobbits were an incredibly private people. Amongst their family and friends and other hobbits, not so much, but most hobbits made an effort to avoid big folk if they could at all help it. Big folk were brash, violent, ___big¸ _and usually nosy busybodies looking to take advantage of small folk most of the time. It wasn't paranoia if it were true. It was a 'big' world out there, for big folk and by big folk. The world was a frightfully large and terribly cruel place for small and soft folk.

And lastly, the source of most of the strange rumours about the odd private hobbit folk, hobbits were exceptional in that they were surprisingly light on their feet and could often go unseen if they so wished to. Which was why so few knew of the existence of the hobbit folk, or much beyond that they were a small people to the west. They were practically invisible even!

Most hobbits who heard this comparison laughed and wouldn't explain why.

Because what the big folk ___didn't _know was that this skill was not because hobbits were small and cautious and light on their feet, not ___entirely_.

It was because hobbits had the ability to be ___Unnoticeable, _which was much better than invisibility.

And damn if hobbits were going to tell any of the big folk what exactly that ___was_ or what it meant. The small folk can use any advantage over the big folk they can get in the end, considering the rude, violent busybodies and thugs that most big folk were.

Besides, it was highly unlikely that the strange rumours that surrounded 'halflings' would get anywhere near the truth.

* * *

The 'knack', as the hobbits called it, for being Unnoticeable differed from hobbit to hobbit. Some had it stronger, some had it weaker, some were better at developing the skill, and some never got any better than their original knack.

Belladonna Took was a very good Unnoticeable. She had an above average knack for it and the Tooks always encouraged their fauntlings to develop the skill, so she developed quite the skill for being Unnoticeable far beyond her original knack. As Tooks had a taste for adventuring, this was in the best interests of the fauntlings in the end, although there was quite a bit of mischief before the end was anywhere in sight.

Once, as a fauntling, Belladonna had stolen a pie from her cousin's windowsill ___as_ her cousin was ___placing_ the pie on the windowsill. A second after it touched the sill, Belladonna was scampering away.

As a tween, Belladonna had made a game that consisted entirely of making herself as Unnoticeable as she could, standing in front of a hobbit, and waiting to see how long it would take before said hobbit Noticed she was there.

The record was a minute and forty-three seconds to notice (longest time it took a hobbit to notice), and the most hilarious reaction had gone to her brother Isembold for snorting ale out of his nose in surprise.

And as she had gotten older, Belladonna had taken her knack for being Unnoticeable and gone off 'adventuring'. Since it was usually only traders and farmers who left the Shire, with the exception of ___male_ Tooks on their adventuring and 'vacations' (Whatever a 'vacation' actually ___was_ by Took and Brandybuck definitions, because they were the only ones who went on the things), and no one ever went very far past Bree, it had been quite the scandal at the time.

Eventually the scandal had calmed down over the years after Belladonna had come and gone a few times from her adventures. She ___always_ came back, smiling and full of stories about elves and Rivendell and a lone hobbit woman braving the world of the big folk. She had ___such_ the skill for being Unnoticeable; if one was going to be such a good Unnoticeable, they might as well make use of it, right?

Another notable hobbit in being Unnoticeable was Bungo Baggins. He had the most extraordinary knack for being Unnoticeable as well as quite the excellent skill for it built up learning how to avoid unpleasant relatives and maintained the same way. Unfortunately for Bungo, hobbits are much better at Noticing things than big folks, ___especially_ unpleasant relatives on a mission to marry you off or secure your inheritance or both... or ___more_.

Despite the 'adventuring' his knack could be put to, Bungo had never felt the need to leave the Shire like a 'proper' hobbit should. Bungo was a responsible hobbit who'd gotten into minimal mischief as a fauntling (getting into ___no_ trouble as a fauntling was ridiculous and slightly suspicious) and a very well respected gentle-hobbit who looked after his tenants and was a very good unofficial adviser to the Thain, Belladonna's father Gerontius Took.

When Belladonna Took married Bungo Baggins after he had built her Bag End at the end of Bagshot Row in Hobbiton, ___very_ nice smial it was, it had been considered a good – albeit slightly scandalous; a Baggins and a ___Took_? – match. They would meet somewhere in the middle; she would lift him up and he would ground her down.

For a long time before and after the wedding, the residents of Hobbiton and a few of Tookborough and Buckland (___especially _Tookborough and Buckland) had joked that maybe it wasn't such idea for two such talented and skilled Unnoticeable hobbits to marry and have children. After all, the children would probably be so Unnoticeable that they would be able to punch a dragon in the nose and the dragon would look around for who was throwing rocks.

So, because Fate has a sense of humour about unintentional prophecies, when Bilbo Baggins was brought screaming into the world, the most peculiar thing happened. The young midwife had checked him over, cleaned him up, wrapped him in blankets, and set the now sleepy baby down to tidy up, and then...

She lost him.

* * *

One would say perhaps, "How in the world do you ___lose_ a ___child_?!"

In all honesty, it's actually really, ___really_ easy.

Children are small, easily distracted, and have a fondness for crawling into spaces where adults can't reach or see them. Any parent can likely tell of a time they lost their little one in their own home because their child was sitting behind something that blocked the parents' vision and accidentally hid themselves from their parent or guardian. But that, of course, is if the child can ___move_.

It can probably be generally agreed that it is quite the thing to ___accidentally lose_ a newborn baby that can't lift their head much less ___crawl_ . People are usually and generally quite careful with babies and don't often ___misplace_ them.

Later this would make a rather hilarious anecdote for Bungo and Belladonna, but upon reflection it is also rather sad in a way that the first major thing to happen to Bilbo Baggins, not even a day old, was that somebody___ lost_ him.

And at the time, it was rather terrifying.

The midwife was a young woman for her craft and this was only the second time she'd delivered a baby without another midwife present. And even an experienced midwife probably wouldn't have known what to do exactly when the baby just ___disappeared_.

At first, the young woman was a little worried and then a little panicked. Surely she'd simply already returned the newborn to the sleeping mother and was having trouble remembering doing so? That must be it, there was no other explanation.

The midwife walked back to the main bedroom of the smial, where Belladonna was sleeping peacefully with Bungo sitting on a chair next to the bed.

Bungo looked up at the woman's entrance and was somewhat surprised to see the midwife returning without his new son. He opened his mouth to ask the midwife where his child was but the woman had simply nodded to herself and walked back out before he could say anything.

Slightly more panicked, the midwife hurried back to the room she'd come from because if the baby wasn't with the parents then she must have simply overlooked the babe somehow? Yet when she returned to the room from before, set up for her use, there was ___no_ baby.

The midwife closed her eyes and began counting to ten. She was simply tired after a long birth, she told herself even though she'd delivered babies that had taken twice as long and been perfectly chipper afterwards. She opened her eyes.

Still no baby.

At this point, the midwife truly began to panic.

She checked ___everywhere_ . She opened all the cupboards, she opened all the drawers, lifted bundles of blankets to look under them, looked under all the furniture, on top of the dresser, and then ___behind_ all the furniture.

No baby.

The baby was ___somewhere in the room_ and she ___couldn't find him._

So she did the only thing you can do after fifteen minutes of desperate, hysterical searching for something and still being unable to find it. She screamed___... loudly_.

Seconds later, Bungo Baggins came hurdling into the room with the angry and fearful demands of his tired wife not far behind him. The young midwife collapsed tearfully on the floor and confessed to Bungo through hysterical sobs that Bilbo had disappeared and she had no idea where he was.

Bungo stared incredulously at the woman. Then he walked over to pick up his son, bundled up exactly where the midwife had put him down and crying as loudly as his new lungs would let him after being woken by the midwife's scream. Bungo then walked back over to the sobbing midwife, comforting his son and yelling to an irate Belladonna that everything was fine, and showed the midwife that Bilbo was right here and quite alright actually.

The woman gazed wide-eyed as Bungo shushed and rocked a bundle of ___blankets_, before her brow furrowed as she managed to make out the muted sounds of a crying baby faunt. Those were the exact same blankets she had wrapped the baby in.

Bilbo mewled unhappily in his father's arms, completely healthy and definitely ___not_ lost.

Just Unnoticeable.

The midwife fainted.

* * *

By the end of the week, word had spread like wildfire. Every gossiping hobbit in Hobbiton having done their duty to spread the news far and wide, so that even the hobbits Buckland and Tookborough had heard the story several times already.

Bilbo Baggins was Unnoticeable.

He couldn't be seen, heard, or smelled. Even if he made an imprint on the bedspread or was drooling on his blankets, your eyes passed right over him. You could pick him up and not even notice you were holding him because you couldn't Notice him at all.

Such a powerful knack was completely unheard of; to be so ___utterly_ Unnoticeable was ridiculous and totally unprecedented. Even hobbits with powerful knacks who'd spent decades honing their skill for being Unnoticeable weren't ___that_ Unnoticeable. No one was ___naturally _or ___unintentionally_ Unnoticeable, it was a skill you had to ___learn_ ___how_ to do. A newborn baby could not ___possibly_ have done something like that, most hobbits agreed, it was just ___impossible_!

Some of the nastier gossips even suggested that Bungo and Belladonna didn't even___ have_ a son and the entire story was a massive ruse. Belladonna had miscarried the baby or given birth to a stillborn, she and Bungo had therefore both gone mad and were making up stories of an Unnoticeable baby!

How unfortunate! How sad! Poor Bungo and Belladonna! Poor Bungo! It was obviously all that Took-ness in Belladonna that had caused her madness. After all those adventures it really was long overdue that she would do something like this. How absolutely terrible!

Belladonna had laughed for five whole minutes after hearing the vicious rumours, then handed Bilbo off to Bungo and promptly went to go tear those gossips something new.

No one had dared to suggest after that that Bilbo Baggins didn't exist, but plenty had thought so anyway.

A ___naturally_ Unnoticeable hobbit? Were they supposed to believe that rubbish?

After Bilbo was sitting up and making sounds, more hobbits were able to Notice him more easily. It was quickly proved and confirmed that yes, Bilbo exists and no one is mad, thank you.

Bungo and Belladonna had determined by this time that Bilbo's being Unnoticeable ___was_ unintentional and more often than not, Bilbo was more ___Unnoticeable_ than not. Most hobbits had to ___work_ a bit to be Unnoticeable but it seemed that for Bilbo that it was as easy as breathing.

How easy he was to Notice flickered as fickle as candle flame in a breeze sometimes, and other times he was solidly Unnoticeable or, rarely, just a normal baby. Only Bungo and Belladonna were able to Notice their child every time, and the simple raw strength of his knack made them send several prayers to Yavanna that Bilbo would never go through a rebellious stage.

If Bilbo ever honed his skills and decided when he got older to be as Unnoticeable as his knack and skills allowed him, no one but Bungo or Belladonna would maybe be able to Notice any sign of him.

Many hobbits were torn between thinking of Bilbo's knack as something wonderful and thinking Bilbo's knack to be___ that _Unnoticeable was ___wrong _and ___unnatural_ in a faunt. Especially a ___toddler_.

The Tooks, Belladonna's family, thought that Bilbo's knack for being Unnoticeable to be the best thing since cake. It was incredible, not strange! Well, maybe slightly strange. A cause for celebration! (Although Tooks could find an excuse to celebrate just about ___anything_.) What a ___knack_!

Belladonna's relations were a rowdy bunch, still polite as a hobbit should be but maybe a little improper. There were even rumours of the Tooks having fairy-blood in them! They had a very open-minded and fun-loving mindset and many had great knacks and skills for being Unnoticeable, though nowhere near as great as Bilbo.

One day, Belladonna caught her brothers and cousins, grown men mind you, and their children playing a new game of their own invention. Good practice for Noticing the Unnoticeable, they told her with cheeky grins, good fun too.

It was called, "Who can Notice Bilbo first?"

Let it be known here that the Took-ish imagination does not often extend to naming games and they usually rely on the Brandybucks in these matters. It didn't make much sense but that's how it was.

The game went pretty much exactly how the name suggested. One of Belladonna's sisters or her brothers' or cousins' wives would set Bilbo down somewhere, somewhere unknown to all the players, and then everyone playing would try to Notice Bilbo. The first hobbit to Notice Bilbo won. It was a enormous modified version of Hide-and-Seek with only one person hiding but not actually trying to hide at all or having any knowledge that a game was being played.

Belladonna had turned to her sisters and sisters-in-law and aunts and cousins and demanded to know if this was what they did every time she left Bilbo with them.

It was.

Belladonna had then demanded to know why these women, some of whom had been her role models in her childhood (which really should have explained a lot to be honest), were condoning the behaviour of the menfolk.

Because they were betting on this, of course.

And not to worry, because Great-Auntie Magnolia was keeping a keen eye on Bilbo and she had a good knack for Noticing the Unnoticeable.

Belladonna then placed an enormous bet on herself and found her baby, gurgling excitedly with a toy out in plain sight, within the minute. Properly scolded but not at all ashamed, Belladonna's family had handed over her winnings and waved the pair goodbye. Maybe they should have waited until they could have properly pretended that the game had been Bilbo's own idea, or at least until he was able to be coerced into agreeing to the game.

The mischief that boy would be able to get up to was without limits, and he'd need proper role models and friends instead of those stuffy Bagginses, no offence to Bungo, to reach his full potential. The Took faunts decided they'd ask without giving Bilbo a choice in a few years. All Tooks loved their Hide-and-Seek, but a Baggins might say no.

It was good practice after all, and good fun too.

They couldn't wait.

* * *

As Bilbo got older, Belladonna and Bungo tried to teach their son to control his knack for being Unnoticeable. They were a little shocked but not surprised that Bilbo felt it much more comfortable for him to be Unnoticeable. It was honestly much more natural to the faunt to ___always be_ Unnoticeable. Such was his knack.

So instead, Belladonna and Bungo valiantly stumbled their way through trying to teach their son to be ___Noticeable_ . Bilbo ___could_ become Noticeable, but it was like building up muscle strength. At first, he couldn't do it for long, but he was getting better.

It was confusing for all three of them, since no hobbit in the history of the Shire had ever needed to be taught how ___not_ to be Unnoticeable and neither Bungo nor Belladonna had much of a clue how to go about doing it. They managed though, and that was good.

Now, at least, it had been fully proven (and rubbed in all naysayers' faces by Belladonna) that Bilbo Baggins existed and continued to exist.

And as his Took relatives had predicted, he got up to mischief beyond their wildest dreams. Well... not actually beyond their wildest dreams considering the sheer impressiveness of the Took-ish imagination, but pretty damn close.

Now that Bilbo was a proper little fauntling, walking and talking and able to scurry around and get into trouble, he was often found running around the Shire either by himself or with the vast pack of Brandybuck and Took cousins and other fauntlings his own age.

Bilbo wasn't the most troublesome or mischievous faunt, but he was certainly the most devious and cunning by far. What he lacked in size, he made up for in wits and his incredible knack for going Unnoticed. His antics were often declared Took family legend, and would be passed down from generation to generation of Tooks so all could hear the fabled tale of that thing that Bilbo did last week.

There was only one notable prank that could be entirely attributed to Bilbo instead of just assuming it was him, because often the mischief was such that who ___else_ could it be? Bilbo hadn't gotten caught, he rarely ever did, but everyone had known it was him.

The prank was also a turning point of sorts in Bilbo's childhood.

One Sunday at the Shire's once-a-month grand market with his father, Bilbo had noticed two of the most malicious gossips of all gossipy hobbits with their heads bent together exchanging awful rumours that they'd 'embellished' or 'improved' slightly (or had just made up entirely).

Bilbo might not have done anything, but many of his Took uncles, aunts, and cousins were at the market and it seemed the two old biddies had latched on to them as their victims. After overhearing a particularly wicked rumour about one of his favourite cousins, Bilbo made himself as absolutely Unnoticeable as he could and marched behind the gossiping hobbits.

He then proceeded to put his young female cousins' lessons to good use. Bilbo braided as much of their hair together as he could, as tightly as he could, then tied the end of the braid with a piece of string from his pocket.

Then, still Unnoticed and Unnoticeable, Bilbo went off to join his father but still made sure to keep the gossips in his view so he could watch the show.

As soon as the awful old hobbits were done exchanging their dreadful lies, they tried to straighten up and realized they couldn't! They made an terrible racket about the whole affair and attracted the attention of the entire market with their shrieks; stumbling around attached at the head and shouting loudly.

One of them, a Bracegirdle, had spotted Bungo in the crowds and immediately began shouting for Belladonna's awful spawn to show himself and take responsibility. It had been quite the show of prejudiced blaming without proof, even if Bilbo had been the actual culprit.

The other hobbit, however, was a Baggins. She was Bungo's great-aunt and a Baggins by marriage only, but the most snobbish and uptight (and hypocritical) of the lot. Deciding that she had had enough, the second after one of the many hobbits stopped laughing enough to free the pair, she marched straight over to Bungo and angrily began to berate him. In the middle of the marketplace too! She really was___ that_ furious.

Such undignified behaviour should not be tolerated from a Baggins faunt, she had conveyed to Bungo through shrieks and shouts. The boy had to be disciplined immediately! He would not be getting away with this mischief!

Bungo was entirely courteous and cordial to his great-aunt, nodding at all the right places, but seemed to rather fixated on the mess on her head that had been the braid and might have been fiercely biting the inside of his cheek.

Meanwhile, Bilbo, who had gone Unnoticed at his father's side by his great-great-aunt, looked over to the horde of his Took relations. Several of his uncles were grinning like mad men or turning various colours due to laughter, and many of his aunts were smirking wickedly or having that same breathing problem because of laughing so hard.

Half a dozen of the faunts at their sides all looked at Bilbo, clearly having Noticed him and the delighted smile of a successful prank. One gave him enthusiastic two thumbs up and the rest, as if they had practised, saluted him proudly.

But a few of the hobbits who'd witnessed the scene were more wary than amused. It was one thing to go Unnoticed standing right in front of someone, another thing to go Unnoticed shouting in someone's ear, and another thing more to go Unnoticed smelling like you hadn't bathed in a month. Those hobbits who had been able to do those things had had powerful knacks and the skills from years of practise, and Unnoticeable abilities like that weren't exactly common.

What did it mean that a fauntling could braid two hobbits' hair together, physically ___touching _them, and not get Noticed at all?

* * *

After returning home, Bungo decided to take a fraction of his great-aunt's yelling to heart although he had no intention of forcing Bilbo to act like the Baggins the other Bagginses wished him to be. He refused to stifle Bilbo's love of life, open mind, and adventurous imagination. He was very proud that his ruddy-red golden-haired son had Belladonna's cheeky grin and many of her expressions and mannerisms; that at heart, Bilbo was more of a Took than a Baggins.

But being a Baggins still meant ___something_.

So Bungo had started to teach in earnest the lessons he knew Bilbo would need to navigate his many pompous Baggins relatives and come out with his reputation and sanity intact. He taught Bilbo how to be the perfect host, with flawless good manners and propriety, and how to maintain a gracious and congenial face ___no matter what_.

Bungo also taught Bilbo more about his future responsibilities as a gentle-hobbit of Hobbiton and how to deal with the tenants and other hobbits that would likely come to him for help, advice, and judgements as they did to Bungo. Being the Baggins family patriach as well as a relation and adviser to the Thain wasn't easy.

Meanwhile, Belladonna taught her Bilbo how to run circles around his Took cousins. She taught him all about the art of adventuring and shared all the stories she knew about the world outside the Shire. Often the two of them could be seen coming back from the woods. Officially they were there to learn about plants but unofficially they had been on a hunt for elves lead by an excited Bilbo and followed by a tolerant, though none the less enthusiastic, Belladonna.

When Bilbo got a little older, Belladonna mused, she would teach him how to shoot with the bow she had brought back from her adventuring. Bilbo was clever and adapted quickly to new things, he'd probably be an excellent shot with some proper teaching. Belladonna's teaching wasn't likely to get very far, since her skill came from only a handful of lessons from a pair of elven twins.

Elladan and Elrohir would likely adore the faunt, as would Lord Elrond. It was such a shame that a trip to Rivendell was a bit too dangerous for a family with a young faunt without an escort. If Belladonna had learned anything from her visits to Rivendell, it was that elves had a weakness for hobbits and a weakness for children. A combination would be ___deadly_ and her fauntling would be definitely spoiled by the 'oh-so-stoic-but-I-secretly-adore-cute-things' elves.

Maybe when Bilbo was older.

Belladonna also taught Bilbo how to make delicious foods and the best way to keep a home in tip top shape. Bungo was quite the cook and could maintain a house as well as the next hobbit, but the Tooks nearly always made competitions out of everything they did. Belladonna was nothing if not competitive and knew all the best tricks.

But when it came to sewing and other needlework, Belladonna handed Bilbo off to Bungo to learn from the best. She declared that Bilbo needed the best teacher, which was Bungo, and that the Tooks had quickly learned that everyone was happier if Belladonna kept her sewing to only the occasional sewing a button to a coat, especially after 'The Accident'.

Bilbo had been quite put out when neither his mother or his Took relatives would say anything on the subject of 'The Accident' and his father had never heard of such an event either. His mother refused to tell his ___father_ of the event, apparently the memories were far too painful.

And together, Bungo and Belladonna did their best to teach Bilbo to control his unique knack and how to become Noticeable. It was slow work, since none of them understood the subject matter exactly, but they were figuring things out well enough and Bilbo was much more Noticeable than before.

But most importantly, Bilbo and his parents were ___happy_.

And so the years passed with barely any notice at all.

* * *

_A/N: I've been posting this on AO3 and figure I might as well try to figure this site out while I'm trying to get my muse back for this story. I've had two months of pretty much nonstop work, so who knows where my muse is now. Probably face down in an alley at this point. Oh well. Find me on AO3 if you don't want to wait for me to post the rest of what I've got; same story name, similar pen name (Lullaby-Knell). Please be patient with me, I'm still trying to work this site out.  
_

_Please do review, it does help with motivation and it helps me improve. Constructive criticism is wonderful, telling me your favourite parts is also wonderful (so I know what you like and can try to include more of it), but insults and abuse hinder the writing process a lot. So if you feel the need to hate, please go invest in a punching bag or something. I am not your punching bag. _


	2. Many Thoughts on Many Matters

_Disclaimer: I am simply playing in J.R.R. Tolkien's sandbox for my own amusement and the amusement of my fellow fans while he most likely is rolling in his grave. R.I.P. Mister Tolkien. You have it a little better than Mister Arthur Conan Doyle, I think. _

* * *

**Chapter Two: Many Thoughts on Many Matters**

_Bilbo thinks over his knack and the things that make him even more unique than most other hobbits realize, and there are two unpleasant events in which he is faced with unpleasant relations and accused of the impossible crime of knack-stealing._

The years followed one another peacefully, as they always did in the Shire. The small residents of the green land had, by now, had the time to get used to the idea of a naturally Unnoticeable hobbit. They still occasionally gossiped about it of course, since it made for excellent conversational material, but not so badly as before since Bilbo was a tween now and wasn't getting into nearly as much mischief as he had in the past.

Or at least he wasn't getting caught at it anymore.

The Baggins of Bag End were very respectable, very respected, and very private, especially on the matter on Bilbo's unique knack. Beyond the rumours, pure speculation, and what various gossipy hobbits had witnessed over the years, there was little knowledge on what Bilbo Baggins could actually ___do_ and what he ___might_ do. Eventually most hobbits exhausted the subject of Bilbo and his knack and lost interest in the subject even if the majority of the Shire still treated Bilbo cautiously or with suspicion, he had ___such_ a powerful knack after all and he was just ___odd_.

And yet by all appearances, Bilbo was turning out to be quite the respectable gentle-hobbit, and there is very little worth less gossiping about than a perfectly respectable gentle-hobbit in training. They never did ___anything_ interesting.

There was still a bit of Took-ishness here and there, more so than many of his Baggins relatives might have liked truthfully, but there was time to grow up yet. Bilbo was a shining example of a gentle-hobbit in training, a very friendly (if very private) lad who maybe thought on things a little too much or maybe not enough (it depended on who you spoke to).

He likely would have been heralded as an example for faunts everywhere if not for his extensive pranking history, which was entirely circumstantial and mostly speculation, and his wonderful and terrible knack that most hobbits didn't know what to think of even if they didn't pay much attention to it. It was a ___very_ hard thing for most hobbits to wrap their heads around and just get over.

The hobbits who ___thought_ they knew what to think of his knack either didn't care much but were still wary or mostly had strong opinions that put Bilbo in a shining light or holding a bloody knife, neither of which were true.

Bilbo Baggins himself didn't really have an expressible opinion one way or another on his 'unnatural' ability and proficiency, or 'knack', for being Unnoticeable and whether or not it was a blessing from Yavanna or a sign of The End. No one had told him exactly what 'The End' was but the generally gist of it was that it was very bad. Nothing capitalized like that and spoken so melodramatically ominously could have been intended to be a good thing.

He had his own private thoughts and opinions on the matter, of course, but was outwardly decidedly neutral in his stance on the subject.

He could hardly help his knack and since there didn't actually seem to be a way to prove whether or not his knack ___was_ evil, ___and_ since ___he_ himself ___wasn't _evil and would be stuck with his knack no matter the case on the ability's evilness, what exactly was he ___supposed _to tell people?

The few people who thought his knack was a blessing and that he was some kind of 'chosen one' were obviously idiots, crazy, or smoking a bad kind of leaf. Bothering to try and convince any of them otherwise would be a waste of time and logical arguments because they would probably never believe he was just a normal hobbit. His knack might not have been normal, but ___he _most certainly was.

In their world of black and white, it was either they would think that he was the 'chosen one' or 'the evil spawn of Mordor', so he just left them to whatever they wanted to believe by avoiding them if he could and receiving unsettling stares of awe or exchanging far too enthusiastic handshakes if he couldn't.

The people who thought that he was 'the evil spawn of Mordor' or a lesser evil and unnatural being weren't going to listen to him defend himself because of ___course_ the evil fauntling sent from Mordor to destroy the world wasn't going to be ___honest_ about it.

Well... them thinking he was from Mordor might have been a bit of an exaggeration on his part or theirs, but they definitely thought there was something very ___wrong_ with him.

Most of them were just scared of his abilities, his father had told him, and didn't know him well enough to realize that he'd never do anything evil with his knack. Having a powerful knack for being Unnoticeable was a lot of responsibility and most of them didn't trust a hobbit so young and inexperienced with so much power and responsibility. They didn't trust a tween or teen to really know the different being right and wrong.

And a lot of Bilbo's knack was ___new._ People were always scared of things that didn't come with 'acceptable', easy-to-understand explanations. It made them feel safer to show hate and false bravado rather than fear or vulnerability against the unknown.

When Bilbo grew up, he could show them he could wield his knack with the responsibility it deserved, Bungo had said. But for now, ignore them and if anyone says or does something bad, Bilbo should tell him or Belladonna immediately.

Bilbo had quickly resigned himself to the fact that his father was right, as Bungo usually was, and didn't spare much thought for the second kind of people. They were never going to do anything about it anyway besides a few mean comments when they were actually able to Notice him.

Being spat at or on, Bilbo had mused decidedly to himself after a few really ___awful_ incidents, was really unpleasant and extremely unhygienic.

Hobbits weren't violent but they could be ___mean_. It was good that too many of the hobbits who hated him for his knack feared the wrath of Belladonna and therefore the wrath of the Tooks that would surely descend upon them, if any of them were to try anything with her fauntling.

Thanks, Mum and family.

His knack to be Unnoticeable didn't seem to be either evil or good to him. It was just an ability really, so it depended on the person if the ability was used for good actions or evil ones. His knack for being Unnoticeable had the same overall effects as other hobbits' knacks did in the end, even if it didn't feel the same way.

Unfortunately, he couldn't really share his observations because he couldn't really ___tell_ anyone that he could ___sense _Unnoticeable knacks and how they worked. That was even more ___not normal_ than a natural knack for being Unnoticeable.

For most hobbits, you could only tell when ___you_ were Unnoticeable because it took effort to do it and there was a tingling of sorts in your hands and feet. None of them could ___sense_ or even ___believed in _what Bilbo had privately termed 'Unnoticeable-ness'.

Bilbo could, for lack of better words, ___feel _when he was Unnoticeable because he could sense his own 'Unnoticeable-ness'. He could___ feel_ and sense the Unnoticeable-ness of other hobbits too, and could also sense when other hobbits Noticed him or were ___about _to Notice him whether he was Unnoticeable at the time or not.

His parents didn't understand when Bilbo tried to explain theses extra senses that he had, so he had given up on trying to get them to understand for now. He wasn't sure ___how_ exactly to describe his ability either actually, he just knew that his own Unnoticeable knack didn't at all work or feel like other hobbits said it should.

So Bilbo had spent quite a bit of time recently trying to come up with the right explanations and analogies to properly educate people, mainly his parents because for everyone else it would just be another reason to be suspicious of him, on his knack.

All of the other hobbits he'd spoken to on being Unnoticeable said that being and staying Unnoticeable was quite the effort for most of them. Being Unnoticeable apparently felt like you were holding your breath, a pressure that got stronger and stronger until you had to stop because you couldn't 'hold you breath' any longer.

Bilbo felt differently.

* * *

"C'mon, Fortinbras! S'not like it's hard!" One of Bilbo's cousins called out from the watching crowd of faunts and tweens in the field, cheerful but extremely unhelpful. Bilbo couldn't even tell who it had been, he had ___so many_ cousins after all, but he was willing to bet it had been a Took.

Fortinbras Brandybuck scowled at his unhelpful supporter with all the ferocity a young hobbit coming out of his fauntling years could manage. He was the only hobbit his age any of them knew who hadn't managed to make himself Unnoticeable yet, the only other having finally managed it the week before. He had been trying desperately since then to make himself Unnoticeable and was becoming more and more disagreeable by the day.

"I've heard the first time is the trickiest," Bilbo offered carefully, trying to soothe his cousin's rising temper before it snapped, "My mum said my Uncle Isengrim couldn't manage it until he was nearly of age and when he did they couldn't find him for a week. She said he really earned it after all the teasing he went through so-"

"Like ___you'd_ know anything about ___earning_ your knack," Bilbo's other cousin Otho Sackville-Baggins interrupted, giving Bilbo a hateful sneer from Fortinbras's other side. He was the hobbit who had only managed to become Unnoticeable for the first time last week.

Bilbo glared at Otho for interrupting him. He had learned early in life to recognize the angry hated and snide jealousy in other hobbits, a fact of his life that came with his knack. Otho was one of the worst culprits. He had hoped that Otho would become more pleasant after Otho's lack of knack for being Unnoticeable while Bilbo's great one wasn't between them anymore, but if anything, Otho had gotten worse.

Bilbo had never liked his cousin, who seemed to covet every aspect of Bilbo's life with fervent envy. It only made it worse that Otho was next-in-line for the Baggins family patriarchy ___after_ Bilbo and his father, Bungo.

Otho had decided that Bilbo was cheating him out of everything he rightfully deserved, ___including _Bilbo's amazing knack for being Unnoticeable, and Bilbo had decided that Otho was an idiot and to ignore his cousin whenever possible.

Straightening to the fullest of his unimpressive height, Bilbo responded stiffly, "I'm only trying to help Fortinbras. I don't see what my knack or your opinion on it has to do with anything, Otho."

"___Your_ help isn't ___wanted_," Otho snapped. "And you don't even ___know_ anything about having to ___work_ for the knack so anything ___you _say is useless anyway!"

Bilbo just rolled his eyes, unsurprised and unhurt by Otho's barbs.

Otho really had nothing on the Bracegirdles. Not to mention that said Bracegirdles had yet to get the best of his mother Belladonna in a battle between sharp and cutting tongues.

Egged on by an ugly jealousy, Otho kept going. "I don't even think your knack is yours anyway!" He announced viciously. "I bet you ___stole_ knacks from regular hobbits to get it!"

A few of the cousins behind the three teens gasped.

Bilbo snorted. "You can't ___steal_ knacks, Otho. That's not possible."

"Yeah?" Otho retorted gleefully. "Well neither is a ___naturally_ Unnoticeable hobbit!"

Narrowing his eyes, Bilbo glared at Otho. Otho didn't have the power to hurt or influence or inspire doubt in Bilbo, he never had. Bilbo just really wished his knack extended to making other hobbits Unnoticeable to ___him_ just so he wouldn't have to deal with his cousin.

Fully prepared to ignore Otho completely, Bilbo turned his attention back to Fortinbras and felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

Fortinbras was staring at Bilbo in apparent new found horrified realization; gaping in shock really. Then his expression turned to a distrusting glare and he opened his mouth before closing it again, unsure how to express his new feelings and refuse any help without making Bilbo the knack-stealer angry.

But Bilbo was already ___furious_.

An entire new fountain of disgust and dislike for Otho Sackville-Baggins sprung up in Bilbo then and there. He had always liked his cousin Fortinbras and Otho trying to turn his own cousins against him by making such a terrible and groundless accusation was a previously unreached level of lowness. Stealing another hobbit's knack for being Unnoticeable wasn't even ___possible_,it had ___never_ happened before and ___never_ would because ___it wasn't possible_!

Knowing that he wouldn't be able to maintain a facade of Baggins politeness and graciousness around Otho with his Took-ish temper simmering so dangerously close to the top, Bilbo clenched his fists to refrain from showing Otho's face the right-hook Belladonna had taught him.

"I'll just leave you to it then," Bilbo ground out.

Then he turned and marched over to sit with the rest of his cousins and the other tweens and faunts, a few of whom subtly tried to edge away from him.

Let Fortinbras and Otho figure out their own paths towards their knacks! If they were going to be idiots about things then he definitely wasn't going to share any of his observations on Fortinbras' Unnoticeable-ness, which he had been going to do until Otho had done his best to be the annoyance he was. Let them stumble clumsily along trying to 'hold their breath' and feel tingling toes! There was no way Fortinbras was going to manage to make himself Unnoticeable with ___Otho Sackville-Baggins' _help.

Indeed, Fortinbras did not manage to make himself Unnoticeable that day. Instead, out of pure frustration and lacking any proper direction, the young hobbit had literally tried to hold his breath in an effort to become Unnoticeable.

He, of course, did not become Unnoticeable, instead he turned a very fascinating shade of purple and then passed out. Otho had shrieked in surprise when Fortinbras had fallen over at his feet.

Bilbo would have been lying if he said he hadn't laughed.

A month later, Fortinbras did finally manage to make himself Unnoticeable and a week later had sheepishly approached Bilbo to apologize for not standing up for him against Otho. Bilbo had courteously and politely agreed to put the entire thing behind them.

But it still hurt, just a bit, that it had been so easy for one of his favourite cousins to believe the worst of him. Because if someone who supposedly knew him could turn against him so easily, he didn't have much hope of ever being treated normally by everyone else.

* * *

There was nothing ___hard_ about being Unnoticeable to Bilbo, his knack for it came as easy as...

Hmmm.

As easy as breathing, he decided, although not as necessary.

Being Unnoticeable, for him, could be unconscious and unintentional if he let himself fall back into old habits. He could consciously stop it, but it felt like he was depriving himself of something necessary even though it actually wasn't. He slipped in and out of being Unnoticeable as easy as pulling on his favourite velvet jacket, there was very little effort involved actually.

With his parents' help he had managed to train himself to 'hold his breath', or 'keep the jacket off' for longer and longer periods of time, until he could 'hold his breath' nearly indefinitely (or 'didn't need the jacket anymore') and not being Unnoticeable didn't feel so uncomfortable.

It was still somewhat uncomfortable though, but mostly because it made him feel far too vulnerable. He'd rather keep the jacket on or just ___breathe_.

Unnoticeable-ness, a discovery of his that nobody else seemed to believe in, was a ___force_ that surrounded a hobbit and exuded sensations of 'don't notice me' that only Bilbo seemed to be able to sense. Every hobbit's Unnoticeable-ness was a little different and purely unique to them.

His own Unnoticeable knack felt like pulling on his favourite velvet jacket, and his Unnoticeable-ness felt like a large blanket or cloak of the same material. It was comfortable, familiar, and it suited him just right.

He could ___sense_ it wrapping around him and blocking people from Noticing him, the strong but subtle 'don't notice me' flowing off it like... the feel of crimson velvet and the scent of his favourite tea.

When he was Unnoticeable, his Unnoticeable-ness was wrapped around him like a protective shield and he loved it.

When he stopped being Unnoticeable, it sort of felt like walking around without clothes on. He wasn't at all used to it, and it gave him the feeling of being vulnerable and cold. Although thankfully that feeling gradually disappeared the more he let himself not be Unnoticeable and adapted to not having his Unnoticeable-ness wrapped around him.

Those descriptions were still a little off, but he was rather happy with those analogies. Since no one else could sense 'Unnoticeable-ness', he doubted anyone would ever fully understand.

He was very good at Noticing the Unnoticeable, but the knacks of other hobbits still worked on him to a certain degree. If their knack and skill was such, he could not see them nor hear them or smell them. But he ___could_ sense their Unnoticeable-ness, he could ___hear _and ___see _and ___feel _their Unnoticeable-ness saying and waving, 'don't notice me!'

When you can Notice their Unnoticeable-ness, you could Notice the hobbit behind it much more easily. It was mostly that Bilbo Noticed their Unnoticeable-ness trying to keep the hobbit in question Unnoticeable instead of Noticing the hobbit themselves.

It was sounded idiotic when he tried to explain it like that.

But one thing he could easily explain was that every individual hobbit seemed to have a totally unique Unnoticeable-ness. Therefore he could recognize and distinguish hobbits when they were Unnoticeable by observing the Unnoticeable-ness in question. Each hobbit's Unnoticeable-ness was a unique sensation or combination of sensations that suited them perfectly.

Sometimes a hobbit's being Unnoticeable was like a whispering breeze of 'don't notice me' that glided around the senses. And sometimes a hobbit's being Unnoticeable was like a gentle hand pushing you out the door, a kind but discouraging 'don't notice me'.

The effectiveness of either depending on the hobbit's knack and skill.

Bilbo's father's Unnoticeable-ness was like the feel of heavy summer rainfall. His being Unnoticeable felt like a constant storm of 'don't notice me' drenching a person like warm and heavy rain. Like thick raindrops sliding across the skin accompanied by a very faint scent similar to the smell of a garden in a storm.

Bilbo's mother's being Unnoticeable was like seeing sunbeams shining through a window onto a tea set. The 'don't notice me' was soft and absolutely lovely, seeming ridiculously delicate for the fierce Belladonna Took. Her Unnoticeable-ness was bright and it gleamed like blooming porcelain flowers.

Bilbo had also discovered that one could tell the strength or design of a hobbit's being Unnoticeable by observing their Unnoticeable-ness.

Bungo had a strong knack for being Unnoticeable but only moderate skill. His Unnoticeable-ness was powerful but not especially controlled. The strength of his being Unnoticeable changed with the amount of effort he exerted and Bilbo could tell the strength by the rhythm of the rainfall of his father's Unnoticeable-ness.

Meanwhile Belladonna's knack was fairly moderate but her Unnoticeable-ness much more precise; her excellent skill for it allowed her to shift Unnoticeable-ness to her will even if she didn't know exactly what she was doing. He could often tell her intentions when she made herself Unnoticeable by the way the sunbeams were reflected off the teacups or the tea set style or colour of his mother's Unnoticeable-ness.

Bilbo had once asked his mother if she was aware of her control over her Unnoticeable knack or felt any different when she shifted her Unnoticeable-ness specifically not to be seen but still be heard or to try and make herself specifically Unnoticeable to a single hobbit.

His mother didn't feel any different from her regular being Unnoticeable at all apparently, all she could tell was that trying to make her being Unnoticeable specific to something took more effort than normal. Which was extremely disappointing to hear.

Most skill the majority hobbits had in making changing to their Unnoticeable-ness was born out of lots of hit and miss practise without much luck in accuracy and even less luck when it came to precision.

Bilbo had been teaching himself recently how to control the strength of his Unnoticeable knack or shift his own Unnoticeable-ness to only affect a hobbit's sight or their hearing, or only affect a specific hobbit. It was slow-going work on the Unnoticeable-ness shifting front but he was getting the hang of it.

He didn't exactly have anyone else to teach him or help make sense of things with the exception of his parents who didn't really known what they were doing either, so he thought he was doing fairly well and making excellent progress.

No one else could sense Unnoticeable-ness and feel it working, much less the Unnoticeable-ness of other people. You could tell whether you were Unnoticeable or not and that was it; it worked or it didn't. No one could ___see_ or ___hear _or ___feel_ Unnoticeable-ness (which wasn't even a thing and didn't exist if you asked anyone but Bilbo).

No one except for Bilbo.

A phrase which was becoming far too often the case for Bilbo's liking.

* * *

The party was incredibly dull.

Bilbo had not known that parties could be ___this _dull, and decided he would do just about ___anything _to have never learned.

The only parties he had attended before this point had all been birthday celebrations or festivals or held by the Tooks or Brandybucks. In translation, he had always been able to, and usually did, associate 'parties' with 'fun'.

Until now.

Being a Baggins meant responsibilities and respectability, Bilbo knew. So it was the reason that meant that since Bilbo was no longer a fauntling and was on his way to becoming a respectable gentle-hobbit, he had to attend his great-aunt's gentle-hobbit society dinner parties. Unluckily, there had not been the option of refusal, not unless Bungo, Belladonna, and Bilbo wished to hole themselves up in Bag End for when Bungo's aunt laid siege to berate them into behaving as Bagginses should and Bungo into doing his duty as Baggins family patriarch.

As far as Bilbo was concerned, behaving as a Baggins should was going to cause him to expire from sheer boredom. There were next to no hobbits his own age with the exception of Otho, but Bilbo wouldn't seek out Otho's company if they were the last two hobbits on earth, and none of the adults were actually interested in making conversation with him.

He was Bilbo Baggins, oddity and freak, the one and only ___naturally _Unnoticeable hobbit. It was far more interesting to talk ___about _him rather than ___to _him, judging by the sneaky glances and the occasional whisper he overheard.

So far the only people who'd spoken to him beyond a greeting and remarks about the weather or his own 'incredible' knack were his parents. But Bungo and Belladonna had been cornered by their hostess on some matter concerning the Thain in the hope that Old Took's favourite daughter and his good friend and son-in-law could change Gerontius' mind about something.

Bilbo snorted at the mere thought. Clearly his great-aunt didn't known Bilbo's maternal grandfather very well because Gerontius could out-stare an elf and out-stubborn a dwarrow if the Old Took felt like it. If he had made a decision on something then half the residents of the Shire would decide to move to Gondor before he changed his mind.

Wondering how long it would take before they could leave, Bilbo lounged against an empty space of wall and severely regretted making a promise to his mother and father that he would not use his knack to ditch his mother and father and flee to sweet, glorious freedom leaving them behind to suffer horribly.

That had been the exact wording of the promise too, which really should have clued him in to just how awful this dinner party was going to be.

"___Bilbo Baggins_! Straighten up ___this instant_! Terrible posture is ___not _befitting a Baggins!"

Blinking in surprise, Bilbo looked up into the gnarled face of his great-great-aunt, the one whose hair he'd braided together with another hobbit several years ago, and winced at the vicious elation in her eyes. He stood up straight, wondering what she'd found to yell at and berate him for now, swearing to himself that next time he'd pay more attention to who Noticed him.

This couldn't be good.

"Hiding are you?" His great-great-aunt demanded with wicked satisfaction. "Trying to worm your nasty little way out of socializing, are you? ___I knew it._"

In plain sight of the entire room? Damn, she'd definitely caught him out, Bilbo thought sarcastically while keeping his face blank and saying nothing. He couldn't go Unnoticeable, though he ___very _much wanted to, because she would delight in telling all the Shire that Bilbo Baggins had been rude and disrespectful to her.

They'd played this game several times already; he knew the drill.

There was absolutely nothing he could say that she wouldn't use against him. Reacting to anything would only serve to encourage her. The best course of action was to remain as silent as possible and pray to the Valar that his parents saw what was going on and rescued him soon.

"Probably think you're above these good gentle-hobbits, don't you?" She sniffed. "Your ridiculous knack always gave you an over-inflated sense of your own importance. I always told your parents that they spoiled you ___rotten;_ raised you to have ___no_ proper respect for your elders and betters-!"

Bilbo privately speculated as to what his great-great-aunt's name was. Midway through her last sentence he had realized that he actually didn't know. He had always avoided her whenever he could, using his knack to his advantage, and never bothered to learn or remember her name. She was down in his mind as 'that awful great-great-aunt whose hair I once braided with some other hobbit's and she never got over it', which was probably actually quite rude and slightly embarrassing.

He made a mental note to make more of an effort to learn and remember names and faces, even of the people he didn't like. ___Especially _of the people he didn't like. It would probably be easier to avoid them that way.

Oh, she was still talking.

"-shame to the Baggins name! You are ___utterly unsuitable_ to be the Baggins heir. Young Otho, now there's a proper Baggins heir-!"

Bilbo shot a subtle glance towards Otho, standing nearby, who was smirking madly at the woman's slightly too loud commentary. (Clearly she hadn't taken the Baggins lessons in volume control and avoiding public confrontations for dignity's sake.) He made a second mental note to push Otho into a river sometime soon.

"To think I had to learn from ___him_ about the truth!"

What? What truth?

The terrible woman's eyes ___glinted _in wicked triumph. "That you had ___stolen _your knack from other good hobbits who ___deserved _it! A ___naturally _Unnoticeable hobbit is impossible! Of course your knack is an unnatural one! When the Shire learns you're stealing knacks they will see you scorned as the little thief you are!"

Tomorrow.

___Tomorrow _was a good day to kick Otho into the Brandywine.

Bilbo's great-great-aunt's eyes narrowed. "___ Are you listening to me, you spoiled brat _?"

Not at all.

"Of course I am, Auntie," Bilbo lied smoothly, wondering if his great-great-aunt was slightly unhinged, or perhaps going mad. "But I'm afraid that Otho must have misheard or misunderstood something. It is impossible to steal a knack. ___My_ knack is entirely ___my_ own."

___Slap. _

"Don't you lie to me, you little knack-stealing ingrate!"

The room was utterly silent as Bilbo, whose youth had never been so obvious as it was in that moment, faced forward once more from how his head had been snapped back, and with wide eyes raised a hand to the red imprint on his cheek.

A rage-filled bellow thundered from the other side of the room.

"___WHAT IN THE BLOODY HILLS DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING TO MY SON?_" Belladonna roared. An impressive war cry from such a tiny being, as she marched on the woman who'd hit her son to deliver the brutal wrath of an angry mother.

"Belladonna, don't!" Their hostess cried, flinging herself in front Belladonna to block Bilbo's mother from her warpath. "She meant nothing of it!"

"And I'm going to mean nothing of it when I___ tear her bloody hands off!_"

Bungo rested a hand on his wife's shoulder, comforting her but by no means making effort to stop her or hold her back. "Lily, raising a hand to any child is unacceptable," he rumbled, anger obviously stewing behind him calm Baggins facade, "There are consequences to that and family is ___no _exception."

"She's old!" Their hostess defended. "She's been ill lately!"

"Then she shouldn't be ___anywhere _near my son!" Belladonna yelled back. "You keep peace at your party but don't you dare suggest that that old bint doesn't deserve what's coming to her! You get away from my Bilbo, you old hag!"

The hag in question stiffened and straightened. "Your son is a knack-stealing thief!"

"And you're bloody barmy! Knacks can't be stolen, you stupid cow!"

"Belladonna, ___please!_"

"Bilbo, son, maybe you should come over here," Bungo said calmly. "Thank you for the meal, Aunt Lily, but we must be going."

"Oh! Yes! Very nice having you and ___pleasedon'tletmekeepyou_!"

"Bungo, if you think I'm letting that child-abusing ___bitch_ get away with-!" Belladonna began furiously.

Bungo stood firm in his place as the Baggins family patriarch and stated, "Bella, this is ___not _the place for such things."

Only Bilbo, now at his father's side with one of Bungo's arms around his shoulders, was close enough to hear his father whisper quietly to his mother, "Get the cow ___later _."

Sniffing in distaste in a manner that any Baggins would envy, Belladonna pinned her new mortal enemy with a deadly glare and glided to the door with her head held high. The other guests parting to leave her a clear path, Bungo and Bilbo following behind her.

"Too scared to face the truth that your child is a knack-stealer?" The old hobbit called out to Belladonna's back as Bilbo's mother stepped out the door, despite the hostess's desperate shushing of the woman.

Belladonna froze, then continued outside without even looking back. Then, she made herself Unnoticeable.

Bungo sighed as he felt the air move and his wife walk past him back inside, having recognized the glint in her eye as she'd stepped out the door.

Bilbo watched wide-eyed at the taunt fury of his mother's Unnoticeable-ness. The sunlight ___glinted _off the teacups sharply, shining into a room that was otherwise dark, and Bilbo sensed his mother to be very, ___very angry _.

Belladonna marched back inside Unnoticeable, and walked straight up to the cow of a hobbit that had dared to hit her son. All the guests jumped back as the old woman was laid out cold on the smial's floor, punched right in the nose by an Unnoticeable assailant. Then the Unnoticeable assailant walked back out, or it was assumed they did, because some of the guests Noticed the muted sounds of footsteps and then the smial door was slammed close.

Outside, Bungo was checking over Bilbo when he Noticed his wife step up beside him.

"Was that ___really_ necessary?" Bungo sighed. "In the middle of Lily's dinner party?"

Belladonna nodded firmly and then began to coo over Bilbo, making the tween blush.

* * *

Bilbo could also sense when people Noticed him or were about to Notice him, whether he himself was Unnoticeable at the time or not. It was much like the same way he sense Unnoticeable-ness, except not very unique from hobbit to hobbit.

The sensation was comparable to hearing a bell ring above a person's head when they Noticed him, but without him hearing anything or there being any actual bells involved. The only difference from person to person was the 'sound' the bell made.

As Bilbo got older, he had become able to tell when a person was ___close_ to Noticing him and therefore could usually do something, such as shift his Unnoticeable-ness a bit or increase its strength, to try and keep the bell from ringing and be Noticed. It nearly never worked. There were faint warning signs that were easier and easier to recognize as he got older, and he still failed more often than he succeeded to shift or strength his Unnoticeable-ness in time.

So mostly he did his utmost never to let anyone get close to Noticing him when he was trying to go Unnoticed and not get caught at something. If he saw warning signs, he scampered.

His Took cousins had not been very impressed with him when he had first insisted they run for it right before they'd been about to pull the most ___glorious_ mischief, but they had aborted it anyway and nearly immediately realized Bilbo had been quite right in his judgement. Now, when Bilbo said run, they ___bolted_ without looking back.

With Bilbo and his impossible knack by their side, they'd teased, getting caught was ___impossible_.

But Bilbo did get caught quite a bit, just not by any old hobbit. There were two, just two, who he just couldn't escape no matter how he strengthened or shifted his Unnoticeable-ness. They were the only people he could never ___ever_ successfully manage to be Unnoticeable to, and they were also his parents.

No matter what he tried or how he shifted the velvet jacket of his Unnoticeable-ness or paid attention to his parents' Notice bells for warning signs, they Noticed him ___every single time_. As a fauntling it had been ___incredibly _frustrating.

When he had finally, as a small fauntling, asked his mother ___why_ she and his father Noticed him even when he was ___trying _to be Unnoticeable with a very childish pout, she had chuckled and assured him that there was nothing wrong with ___him_ or his abilities. It was simply that she and Bungo loved him.

Bilbo had made such a face of horror and disbelief that Belladonna had burst into laughter and immediately hugged her angrily pouting son, promising that she wasn't laughing at him (although she really, ___really_ was). She then proceeded to explain what she had meant.

Bungo Baggins and Belladonna Took loved their son with every last bit of their hearts and every last bit of their souls. They'd loved him when he'd been the annoying kicking bump that never let Belladonna sleep properly, and they'd loved him even more when they'd first seen him.

So of course they Noticed him.

A person who truly and totally loved you, Belladonna told her tiny son, would always Notice everything you did and everything about you because they simply couldn't help otherwise. And that when you loved someone, you couldn't see them as Unnoticeable again.

Someone who loved you was someone who knew you were worth Noticing and made every effort to Notice you and make sure you knew that, Belladonna informed Bilbo. Noticing was caring. If they didn't Notice you or didn't think you were worth Noticing, then they probably didn't love you or care about you as much as they should.

Bilbo hadn't understood at all at the time, but now he thought he understood.

His mother's Notice bell that rang like wind chimes and his father's large, deep brass Notice bell were his favourite sounds that he couldn't actually hear.

Because they meant he was loved.

With that knowledge, he didn't give a damn what the rest of the gossipy hobbits of the Shire thought or if they called him an unnatural knack-stealer with a far too powerful and scary knack. His knack was entirely his own, its uniqueness was ___great_, and they could all stuff it.

* * *

_A/N: So, here's the second chapter. Thanks to all who followed and fav-ed and reviewed. Please do continue doing things like that. It's really rather wonderful. If you don't want to wait for me to ineptly try to figure out, there's 11 chapters of this on AO3. I'm currently working on the twelfth, I swear. Thanks again and do let me know your thoughts so far._

_Also, let me know if I ever go past the rating I have this as (T, I think). I'm a terrible judge at that sort of thing. _


	3. The Fell Winter

_Disclaimer: I do not claim any of Middle Earth or it's characters as my own and I am receiving no profit whatsoever for this. If I was, I would currently be living in an exact human-sized replica of Bag End because that would be totally sweet._

* * *

_A/N: Let it be known, here and now, that my judgement on how to rate stuff is terrible. I use swear words extremely casually (though I'm fairly certain there aren't any in the following chapter but there most likely will be in future chapters) and my gore tolerance is high as long as I can't smell it. (Blame the video games.)_

This rating of this fic may be subject to change AS I write it.

Anyway, I have no clue how to rate this so be wary. There is blood and there is death, although it's all pretty vague. It's pretty okay in my eyes (I would let my kid brother read this but that's MY family). Let me know if you think the rating needs to be changed.

Blood and death and sadness, you have been warned.

* * *

**Chapter Three: The Fell Winter**

_All things end sooner or later; the good often sooner than later._

_Like sunshine on teacups and summer rain._

Bilbo Baggins was excited. His mother had just revealed to him that they would be going to Rivendell after winter! She had written to the Lord of Rivendell and been told in reply that Belladonna Took and family would always be welcome in Imaldris whenever they wished to come for however long they wished to stay.

They were going to _Rivendell!_

To _live there!_

Sadly, there was an unfortunate reason for this in that the Shire had become less and less of a home to their family as the rumours had spread following that terrible dinner party about Bilbo being a 'knack-stealer'.

That time in the field had quickly become gossip fodder as well, and changed so much from hobbit to hobbit that most of them had heard the horrible tale of how Bilbo Baggins had choked his poor cousin Fortinbras, sucking his knack out. Young brave Otho Sackville-Baggins had finally confronted Bilbo about his knack-stealing and saved Fortinbras. Or most Shirelings had heard a variant of the story at least; most versions not _quite_ so bad.

Otho in particular had taken a horrible glee in telling any hobbit who would listen to him that Bilbo Baggins was _actually_ a knack-stealing thief, not the amazing naturally Unnoticeable hobbit he had been before.

They didn't even want to listen to Fortinbras's protests, much less Bilbo's, that it was completely untrue. Not that Fortinbras protested much; he made as much of an effort to tell the truth as most hobbits actually wanted to hear it. All the other faunts and tweens (that were not Tooks) weren't sure exactly what to think, but followed their parents' lead and stopped inviting Bilbo to do anything with them and occasionally even _added_ to the festival of slandering!

Apparently it was much easier to believe that Bilbo was an evil stealer of innocent hobbits' knacks instead of just having a powerful natural gift, even though the former wasn't actually _possible_. He could tell because like with his cousin Fortinbras, most of them turned on him with terrifying ease.

Oh, he wasn't going to be run out of the Shire by torches an pitchforks anytime soon because it was all entirely speculation and there weren't any hobbits _without _ knacks for him to have stolen _from_. But daily life had still become fairly miserable for Bilbo and he definitely felt he was being run out of the Shire somehow.

He had taken to staying Unnoticeable most of the time now because if he let his Unnoticeable-ness abate then he received nothing but cold stares, suspicious glances, and very snide or very cruel comments. Some hobbits even scurried away in the opposite direction when they saw him walking down Bagshot Row now! If they didn't, they wouldn't even look at him... much less wish him a good morning.

The only hobbits who hadn't become absolutely _awful_ or in _some _way difficult to deal with were the Tooks.

Tooks were a loyal bunch, _very _ loyal. Belladonna and Bilbo were two of their favourite family members and they didn't turn their backs on family so easily, but they could not fight against the entire rest of the Shire for Bilbo's reputation even with the Thain on their side. Gerontius loved his daughter and her family dearly, but there was little he could do since Bilbo's knack was so _very odd_ and _unique _ and, in all honesty, _terrifying_.

In an innocent, rather adorable child, a knack like that had been a bit of a wonder, but now? Now with the addition of all these rumours, people were beginning to wonder _just what exactly_ could be done with a knack so powerful.

Old Took had taken his daughter aside and pointed out that now would maybe be a good time to go on a vacation of sorts. Hobbiton and the Shire clearly wasn't the best place for Bilbo at the moment, so maybe it would be best for all involved with he went _somewhere else_.

That had hurt.

Bilbo knew his grandfather loved him and was only looking out for him, but it still hurt. How would it _not_ hurt to be more or less kicked out of the only home you'd ever known because your idiot cousin was a jealous little creep who couldn't keep his lying mouth shut?

His Took cousins had been very sad to learn they'd be losing one of their best pranksters. They were the ones who Noticed him the most, second only to his parents. His cousins loved him as much as they could with Bilbo being such the private and independent person that he was. Even if they did not _know_ Bilbo as well as they did each other, he was still their cousin and therefore _family_.

To all hobbits, family was _important_, but to the Tooks family was absolutely everything.

They had defended many of their members against cruel gossip in the past but _never_ on such a scale before. Hobbits were a suspicious, superstitious bunch who'd learnt well to be wary of the unknown and Bilbo's knack was just _so _ _unknown_ . For such a non-violent race that had only had a single murder of a hobbit _by _another hobbit, the residents of the Shire could be... vicious.

His Took cousins and family had been sorry to learn they were losing him, and sorrier still they could not shield him better against the gossip and shunning of the rest of the Shire. They promised to hold him the best going away party in the history of the Shire and absolutely _no one_ who Bilbo didn't like or thought he was a knack-stealing thief would be invited!

That had comforted Bilbo greatly, but the entire situation still stung more than he would have liked to admit.

However you had to roll with what life threw at you sometimes and Bilbo had decided he couldn't care less as long as his parents were with him. _He _ was going to _Rivendell _ by _invitation of its Lord_ ; he would get to see and meet _elves!_

Despite the mistrust most Shirelings had for any kind of big folk, Elves had always fascinated Bilbo. His mother's stories of the beautiful and graceful elves and their even more beautiful home had played a large part in Bilbo's childhood. He had spent _hours_ off exploring and 'looking for elves' and now he'd get to _meet_ them.

And live in _Rivendell!_

His parents were pleased at his exuberance and did their best to appear equally as excited. It was easier for Belladonna, who was looking forward to seeing her elven friends, but Bungo was a little less successful. He had never left the Shire and frankly, did not want to, but he would do anything for his young son, so leave the Shire he would.

Bilbo did not catch on to his father's feelings. He couldn't wait until winter ended so they could be on their way and leave all the awful gossipy residents of Hobbiton behind them! Bilbo was far beyond ready to leave the Shire already, and he knew, with the exception of Bag End itself and the Tooks, he wouldn't be looking back.

* * *

Winter didn't seem to be ending anytime soon.

If anything, it had just gotten colder and colder with every passing day.

Many of the Shire's residents had settled into a deep worrying and a morose false optimism; this was a feeling and situation that no hobbit liked. Their cheerful smiles didn't reach their eyes and even the smaller fauntlings had begun to notice something was wrong.

_Why wasn't winter ending?_ They wondered.

_When would the winter finally end?_

_What were they going to do for supplies when they ran out if the winter still hadn't ended?_

_How much longer would their supplies last?_

_What if the river **froze**?_

_When would the winter finally end? _

There was one good thing about the horrible winter in Bilbo's opinion. They were all too busy worrying over the winter to hate and shun him for being a knack-stealing thief. After the way the residents of Hobbiton had treated him over the past few months, it was an extraordinarily welcome break.

Except for the extreme cold of what seemed to be a never-ending winter. That was not welcome in the slightest. Really, _really_ unwelcome, actually.

Bilbo had found himself repeatedly wishing over the increasingly dreadful winter that his knack extended to making himself Unnoticeable to the cold. He could have repeatedly kicked a man in the shins and the man wouldn't have a damn clue what was going on but nooooo... his 'amazing' knack couldn't have the decency to give him the ability to make himself Unnoticeable to frostbite so all his bloody fingers and toes wouldn't fall off!

Luckily, his family was better off than most at the moment. The cellar and pantry of Bag End was exceedingly, _ridiculously_ well-stocked. Not to mention that Belladonna had been on edge since the weather had taken a turn for the worse. She had had them to gather as much firewood as they could, rationed their meals, had them board up all the windows from both sides, and then reinforce the doors just in case.

_Then_ she had done her best to see that all their neighbours did the same.

Belladonna had admitted herself that she didn't know much about survival during winter but she knew more than most hobbits and that was better than nothing. The knowledge she had gained from her past adventures would serve them well, but they wouldn't last forever.

Most of the residents of Hobbiton had listened somewhat, although for the most part entirely from fear and the willingness to do anything someone who appeared to know what they were do it that came with fear. But a lot of them had scoffed about the food rationing.

The Shire was and had always been a place of plenty. Winters always ended sooner or later. The winter would end soon enough, they said, probably pushing down any worrying instinct that suggested that soon enough might be later than they thought.

That was the main thing that every hobbit wanted to know, really. When would this _despicable_ winter _end_? It surely had to end _sometime. _Things had to pick up _eventually_. This could not possibly become _another_ Fell Winter, which most of them had thought to be merely a legend but now were beginning to strongly but secretly believe otherwise.

Then, after one particularly chilling storm all hobbits holed themselves up in their homes for, the Brandywine froze over completely. Something the hobbits, secure in their homes, did not learn of until the wolves descended on the Shire.

* * *

Bilbo stepped warily out of the safety of Bag End, shutting the door behind him and wincing at the brightness of a snow-covered Shire in daylight. He shifted the heavy pack on his back and checked that the coast was clear before hurrying to his first delivery spot.

Supplies had begun to run out; not surprising when you ate _seven_ meals a day. Due to Bag End's ridiculously well stocked pantry and cellar and his family's deep sense of responsibility as landlords and gentle-hobbits and belief in having a decency towards other beings, they'd all been out delivering what they could to their neighbours in need.

While Bilbo was mostly indifferent to the residents of Hobbiton, he even thought he hated a few of them due to their hatred of him and his knack, he did not like the idea of leaving anyone to starve to death. Especially fauntlings. Even in his distaste for many of Hobbiton's residents, he could not bring himself to condemn anyone to starvation.

And starve to death they would, for most were too wary of the wolves to step a single furry foot out of their smials.

The Shirelings had quickly learned that being Unnoticeable did not work on wolves as well as they did men or other hobbits. The wolves were desperate, starving, and possessed sharper senses. They _barely_ Noticed Unnoticeable hobbits more than the hobbits went Unnoticed, but barely still had not been good enough to save the lives of a handful of good hobbits who'd believed their knacks would save them.

Only the hobbits with truly _excellent_ knacks could still be out and about with _any _chance of safety and survival. So the Baggins family had been doing their duty to others in need by helping the gossips who'd been in the process of running them out of town. Their knacks were some of the best in the Shire, _especially_ Belladonna and Bilbo's more flexible ones.

He shifted the blade hanging from his waist, unused to having the heavy weight hanging at his side. He was smart enough to hope that he _would not_ encounter any wolves even though he dearly wanted to test his theory because if he was wrong he had _no_ bloody clue how to go about using the heavy, sharp and pointy thing at his side despite his mother's (_very_ quick and not very useful) lesson. Bilbo hadn't encountered any wolves as of yet, but he had a theory as to why regular Unnoticeable-nesss was not working very well.

While hobbits had similar Notice bells, Bilbo had discovered that it differed from hobbit to hobbit. Usually each hobbit, depending on their senses and observational abilities, required Bilbo to shift his Unnoticeable-ness _just the tiniest tad_ for there to be _no_ chance of them Noticing him.

Wolves were completely different from hobbits. They had much more powerful senses and no Unnoticeable knack but still possessed powerful animal instinct, so therefore one would probably have to do quite a bit of shifting with their Unnoticeable-ness to fully _be_ Unnoticeable to wolves.

The only problem was that Bilbo was the _only_ one capable of Noticing being Noticed and consciously shifting his Unnoticeable-ness as far as he knew. He'd gotten good at learning exactly _how_ he needed to shift his Unnoticeable-ness by observing the Notice bells of other hobbits but he was fairly certain the wolves would not be patient enough to let him properly test _anything_ without _eating him_.

So he'd simply ignored all his parents' lessons and his own findings about being Noticeable and let his Unnoticeable-ness wrap around him like soft red velvet, shielding him as fully as his knack was able. And Bilbo's knack could shield him _very well_.

Watching carefully for wolves, Bilbo made his way through the snow and wished again to be Unnoticeable to the cold. He wished this winter would end already so they could make their way to Rivendell.

He wished he didn't have to leave Bag End and he wished his parents didn't feel the need to come with him. After calming down from his excitement, he could see the brief unease in his father's eyes at the idea of leaving the Shire but that Bungo held his silence due to Belladonna and Bilbo's enthusiasm.

He wished his parents were safe at home instead of running about in the snow because of some bloody nobleness that he wished they hadn't passed on to him as well. At least _he_ had a knack to back up what he was doing.

His mother was laughingly calling the entire thing an '_adventure_'.

Bilbo hurried his way through his deliveries, barely paying any attention to the gratefulness of the hobbits he delivered supplies to. He wanted to get home as early as he could and accomplish as much as possible so he could show his parents that he should do all the deliveries _alone_ because he was perfectly capable of it no matter his age. He wanted to get them to see that it was safer that they stay inside Bag End and he wanted to stop thinking about them and if _something had happened_.

He needed to get back and make sure they were safe. So he gave the barest minimum of goodbyes to the last of the thankful hobbits and hoped that he had finished in enough time to convince his parents that they did not need to risk themselves.

Their knacks were good but what if they weren't good _enough_?

Bilbo wished and_ wanted_, and wanted and _wished_ all the way home; he prayed to any of the Valar that would listen for things not to get worse. He did not want anymore '_adventures_' here, thank you!

* * *

There was no denying it now, no more hobbits were willing to argue the point. This was a Fell Winter. There had only been a single winter before this that had been bad enough to be called that and it was now more legend than anything else. Bilbo's prayers had obviously fallen on deaf ears because things had most certainly gotten worse.

Bag End's cellar had been deep and plentiful but, emphasis on the past tense there, it did not go on forever. Supplies had been running out all over the Shire and Hobbiton had been no exception. Semi-well-stocked safe houses had been created all over the Shire and most hobbits flocked to them if their hunger and desperation overcame their fear of the wolves.

Rumours were circling of orcs, goblins, and wargs crossing the Brandywine. The wolves had gotten tired of waiting for hobbits to come outside and a few had attacked smials, though thankfully nothing had come of that. The Shire was no longer the haven it had always been for the hobbits, and the hobbits were no longer the happy folk they had once been.

Where were the Rangers? Many wondered. How much longer would it be until helped arrived? Would help arrive at all?

When a safe house of suitable distance from Hobbiton had been created, Bungo and Belladonna had set out on a mission to convince all their neighbours to go. Bungo using logical arguments and his calm and composed manner that made him such a successful mediator, and Belladonna also using logical arguments but in a way that was probably closer to nagging and used a lot less... diplomacy than her husband.

Bilbo hadn't tried to tell anyone anything. He could not tell anyone what to do and he'd personally rather they wait for the Rangers or the bounders instead of travelling as a large group and hoping the wolves weren't _that_ hungry. It reeked of recklessness and danger to him, but their supplies were apparently truly running _that_ low. Not that anyone would listen if he argued either way, being under age and who he was. He could probably get a few of the really stubborn hobbits to do one thing if he argued the opposite but he hadn't felt like trying, his parents had seemed to have the convincing hobbits part well in hand.

He had gotten used to the weight of the dagger at his hip and even tried to teach himself a bit about how to use it since his mother did not know much about fighting and her lessons had only made him see how little they both knew. But you could not teach yourself something you had no experience in and Bilbo had nearby lost his toes, so he had stopped trying.

"Thank you, young man," croaked an elderly hobbit woman warmly as Bilbo took her arm and helped her through the snow without thinking, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Think nothing of it," Bilbo replied earnestly, checking on the rest of the travelling group.

Right, he could not afford to be lost in his thoughts or daydreaming or recalling or _anything_. He, his parents, and all but the most stubborn residents of Hobbiton were on their way to the safe house and he needed to keep an eye out for wolves and wargs and Valar knew what else.

No one expected him to do this, seeing as he was far too young to be tasked with such a thing, but Bilbo persisted. His parents had raised him to believe that his knack was not a curse nor a gift, simply an ability that would become either as Bilbo used it. His knack was a _responsibility_, they had told him, and such a great knack came with even greater responsibility.

He was a Baggins of Bag End with the most powerful knack the Shire had ever seen; he was more scared than he'd ever been in his life but that was no excuse. His parents had decided that these hobbits were their responsibility and so that's what he'd do, because he had to protect his parents if nothing else.

His mother had called it an '_adventure'_ again and he _did not see the adventure.  
_

Now he was more aware than ever just how helpless and weak and _small_ hobbits were and he _did not like it_. Their knacks were a gift that had saved them many times before but their knacks were nowhere near as powerful as Bilbo's, which had made Bilbo keenly aware of just how _useless_ his knack was. What good was his ability if he could only save himself?

"You are a very old soul, Bilbo Baggins," the old woman said curiously, leaning on Bilbo more than before and Bilbo wondered why on Middle Earth this old hobbit wasn't in the waggon or something.

"Am I?" Bilbo asked politely.

The old woman snorted. "Don't see why all those busybodies are worried you're too young to use your knack right; bunch of children, them. You worry too much to go bad."

Bilbo blinked in surprise. "I do?"

"Yep. You keep checking to see if your mum and da are still there, and you're twitchy. And you're helping an old woman find her feet in all this damn snow. Anyone who thinks you're evil is an idiot."

Well, this was blunt.

"I could be plotting to throw you to the wolves for my own survival if necessary," Bilbo pointed out, which made the old woman cackle quietly.

"Boy, that's what I'm using _you_ for," the grandmotherly hobbit boasted, then her eyes turned soft. "Don't worry about the gossips, they'll come around sooner or later," she stated quietly, "If they don't then ignore them. They've started thinking for themselves after what you've been doing for them. You've done good this winter, more than any fauntling should have had to and you still think you should be doing more."

"I-"

"You're twitching, Bilbo Baggins," the old woman said, sounding like she was reprimanding him. "You keep going for that pig-sticker at any loud sound and you count our number every ten minutes; better than the clock I got for my sister's fiftieth birthday. Don't tell me I'm wrong. I raised too many children with more knack than any mother likes, I have an eye for Noticing things both Unnoticeable and not. Had to or I never would have survived the grandchildren."

Bilbo mulled this over, unsure of what to confess or even if he should.

"My knack is amazing but it's a big responsibility. I don't like that it's only good to me," he said after a while, "I'm a Baggins of Bag End and I-" The old woman listened closely as Bilbo took a careful breath. "...My parents are going to do their duty as such to these hobbits and I don't know what I'd do if I lost my mum and da, so..." Bilbo trailed off, unsure of how to explain how he felt and what he meant accurately. "I want to keep my parents alive and I don't want anyone else to die either and I know my parents will do whatever it takes to save anyone they can, so I'll do my best to use my knack to save everyone I can."

"You are a worrier, Bilbo Baggins," the aged hobbit said as they trudged through the snow together. "And you are going to worry yourself grey to match your old soul if you go on this way. Save some of that worry for yourself too."

Bilbo said nothing, because he did not have any words.

"Now," the wrinkled hobbit announced, "This conversation has been enlightening but I'd like to get back to the cart now. You looked too deep in thought and I felt I had to fix that for awhile. Hop to, young Baggins, I'm old and shouldn't have to walk through the snow like this."

"Yes, ma'am," Bilbo said, wondering where he had met the old hobbit woman before.

* * *

Bilbo, however much he tried to stay alert, was not the first to hear the howls.

"Wolves!" A hobbit near the end of the group screamed, which sent off a chain of shrieks and panicking throughout the group. Hobbits scattered, running for their faunts, their family, their friends, or just for themselves.

"ENOUGH!" Came Bungo's bellowing cry. "Head straight for the safe house and leave your belongings behind! If you don't need it to live then you don't need it now. Able hobbits take the faunts, sick, and elderly with them. Leave no one behind!"

Belladonna's commanding voice followed her husband's. "Any hobbit with a good knack and a good head on their shoulders who's willing to buy the rest some time come over here! GO!"

The residents of Hobbiton scrambled to obey. Bilbo hurried towards his parents, heart beating loudly in his ears, the howls of the wolves and the panicked hobbits barely registering. As soon as he reached his mother and father, Belladonna shook her head and Bungo frowned.

"Bilbo, no," Bungo said firmly. "You're too young. Go with the others."

"But-"

His mother scowled at him, an expression he did not like at all.

"You heard your father," Belladonna stated determinedly. "You are nowhere near old enough to volunteer yourself for this, go with the others and see that they get to the safe house."

"But-"

"As a Baggins of Bag End, it is your responsibility to do what is right," Bungo explained thunderously. "And what is right is for you to go with the others to safety. See them there."

Bilbo stomped his foot, childish and he knew it. "I have the best knack in the entire Shire! There is _no one_ better suited for this than me! I can be _useful_!"

His father shook his head. "Bilbo there isn't time for this! Go with the others _NOW._"

Cowed by the rare raising of his father's voice, Bilbo hurried after the hobbits that were fleeing to safety with his eyes shining suspiciously bright. Belladonna turned to their volunteers. There were less than she'd like but it would have to do; their knacks were probably nowhere near as good as they truly needed right now.

They had lasted as long as they could and no help had come, now it had come to this. They would have to show the backbone of iron that all hobbits possessed, used only when their need was dire. And no need was greater than the need to protect their families; their homes of heart that would last them longer than any smial.

"People say hobbits are soft and small," Belladonna began, speaking quickly, "We are a private people and prefer to run rather than stand against certain death, but we can be brave. This won't be certain death but it will be dangerous. Distract the wolves as well as you can. Shout and make noise then climb trees or go Unnoticeable, be smart and be fast. Don't let them catch you, and _don't_ let them go after our families!"

When the volunteers didn't immediately snap to, Bungo stepped up. "You heard her! Let's knock those wolves with the best knacks they'll never Notice!"

Belladonna ran forward, ordering the few volunteers about like a war general as they ran towards the howls. Bungo right behind his wife and reinforcing every one of her orders. They did not look behind. If they had, they perhaps might have Noticed their son stop and heard the faint "Bugger that!" that carried on the chilling breeze.

* * *

This was no adventure, Bilbo thought. Adventures were a fauntling's ramble in the woods in which the fauntling tripped over a root and came back with scrapped knees and an armful of discovered mushrooms. An adventure was a hobbit going to Bree and coming back telling stories of their mishaps in a world of 'big'; maybe a narrow escape from a shifty looking group of men.

_Adventures_ happened in stories; it was a childhood fantasy. Where there was just enough danger to make it exciting and not enough so that you had never a chance of not coming home.

At first, things had seemed so simple. Distract the wolves. A hobbit popping out from behind a tree here, another whistling to bring attention there, and then a third who was ripped down by savage claws before her knack could so much as make her hands tingle.

Then another, whose ankle was caught as they tried to escape up a tree.

Then another, who could not summon his knack from pure fear.

_Why _were there_ so many _of the beasts? _Where had they come from?_

This was no _adventure_, it was a _**nightmare**_.

Bilbo searched wildly for his parents, his Unnoticeable-ness around him like a coward's armour as he clumsily wielded the blade that had barely left its sheath at his hip before. The volunteers, good people that he had known as his life, ran, hid, and fell around him; anything to keep the wolves from pursuing their families despite their lack of _anything_ with which to defend themselves as their Unnoticeable-ness was seen through by the desperately hungry wolves.

Despite all the greatness of his knack, he could to nothing to stop the hungry beasts from Noticing his neighbours and sending red blood scattered across white snow. He was not fast enough to catch the wolves before they reached their prey, everything was happening far too quickly and everyone was far too far away to help.

There was nothing but howls and screaming, whistles and screaming, distracting shouts and _screaming_.

And blood all over the snow.

Occasionally he managed to slash at a wolf as it passed him by Unnoticed but overall he felt useless and overwhelmed and so _damn scared_. He was small and the wolves were big, he was weak and the wolves were strong and the best ability he had let him _hide like a coward and __**nothing else**_**. **

_Where _were his_ parents_?

There! Those familiar fiery auburn curls he would recognize anywhere, windswept and matted... but missing the gleam of sunshine off teacups why...? Oh.

Oh no. _Oh no no no no no..._

Two sets of teeth bared in snarls; one white and one yellow, oozing scarlet. One wielding a bloody blade and the other blood-stained claws.

_...no no no, not them, anyone but them..._

A gash down her back, crimson soaking her clothes. Standing, trembling, barely upright over a body that was all too familiar.

_...no no no no no, please Yavanna, no..._

Once strong, now broken, laid out at her feet and bleeding. Hopeless yet guarded valiantly... lifeless but not forsaken. An Unnoticeable-ness of summer raindrops disappearing into the frigid air forever.

_...why, why, why, this _ _ **shouldn't** _ _ be happening, it _ _ **couldn't** _ _ be happening... _

Hackles raised, limbs tense, and an unskillful blade raises in reply. Too far away, he runs, knowing time has not a care for him and luck had no place here. But there is hope, there is _desperate hope _that is _dying_ as he watched death, _death_ with feral eyes and bloody fur, leap.

_...spare her, take me, spare her, take me... she does not deserve it, please, please, please, oh please no no no no... _

The ineptly wielded blade is knocked aside easily. Teeth tear into the soft flesh of smooth neck with vicious satisfaction, his heart is ripped out of his chest as the wolf and its prey hit the crimson dyed snow.

_...NO._

He screams, a war cry that the killer does not even Notice as he closes the last bit of ground and unthinkingly plunges the knife into the animal... again and again and again. As many times as he can, as if it will undo the loss he was seconds from stopping. His Unnoticeable-ness around him stronger than ever before, fuelled by anger and loss and fear and pain.

The wolf howls and whirls violently to find its predator but there is none to see or smell or sense at all. There is only the vicious pain and blood; the wolf's, the dying woman's, and the dead hobbit man's.

Death takes the killer mere minutes after the victim.

Bilbo scrambles desperately to his mother. Though there is nothing he can do, his shocked mind cannot comprehend the irreversible and final nature of what _should not, could not have possibly_ come to pass.

His death-stained, bloody blade falls to the snow forgotten and his knees drop to the crimson dyed whiteness a second later. Hands covered in scarlet liquid grasp for her hands quickly matching the coldness of the winter, then for his mother's face to turn the limp head to face him. Dead eyes stare ahead without seeing and he can taste salty liquid running down his cheeks, near freezing in the cold.

Behind Belladonna, her husband's equally lifeless eyes stare at nothing in the direction of his crying son and departed wife. He has long left this world.

It is the first and last time that either of their eyes look towards their son without him hearing the ringing of a deep brass bell or the tingling of wind chimes. Those sweet, loving bell chimes are lost to Bilbo forevermore and he _knows _it.

He is unseen.

He is Unnoticed.

And as far as his screaming, _missing, **broken**_ heart could care, he is for the first time... unloved.

* * *

_A/N: Yeah, uh... not a happy chapter. Sorry. Thanks to all who're paying attention to this story, though. You're awesome. I'm so sorry about this. Uh... it gets better?_


	4. An Extended Invitation

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of Mr. Tolkien or Mr. Jackson's hard work. I am receiving no profit for this. If I was, I would probably be off having sword fights with my brothers using replicas of Sting, Orcrist, and Narsil that I bought with all that imaginary money. And then I wouldn't be able to write any more because we'd all be missing fingers and possibly whole limbs. _

* * *

**Chapter Four: An Extended Invitation**

_Would that I were as close to another that we would appear to be a single soul inhabiting two bodies. Their love would be mine, my happiness theirs, and our pain would be conquered together as one._

_Then perhaps this pain would not hurt so much._

Orcs. There had been _orcs _in the _Shire_.

_Orcs_ and _goblins_ and _wargs_ and other such _disgusting _wicked things that should never have stepped onto the green land. Desperate runts of less than worthless beings that should have never come anywhere close to the one race on Middle Earth above all others that should have never encountered such evil.

"We should have come sooner," a tall elf whispers as he watches putrid smoke float into the air from some distance away. Absentmindedly, he pats the neck of his mount, a small gesture of comfort for him as well as the horse.

The elf is handsome – possessing the otherworldly beauty all elves have – with dark hair, grey eyes, and pale skin, every inch the graceful and deadly hard elven warrior. Yet shame seeps in at the edges of his tone, while his companion on another steed next to him, a mirror image of the first elf in every aspect of appearance, scowls with obvious displeasure.

The second elf's anger is both great and terrible, shown by his expression. Such an expression on an elven face is often nothing less. Shame and anger are not emotions that elves normally show, and nor are they emotions that elves enjoy to admit they feel much less that they are currently feeling. Too undignified, say some; too petty, say others.

"At least we came at _all_," the second elf says to his twin. Anger, true righteous fury, crawls into his tone as shame did his brother's, except much more forcefully, as anger is wont to be and do.

Not many had answered the hobbits' cry for aid, and not many had bothered to pay enough attention to hear it at all. The men near enough to the Shire to send help had their own problems in this cruel winter. If such foul beings had managed to reach the hobbits in their green haven land – no matter how _few_ in their number they had been and how pathetic the creatures had been even in comparison with the best their whole pathetic kind had to offer – then the men had had their own families to watch out for and enemies to fight for their own continued survival in this formidable winter.

Little help, but still help, had come from the merchants and their mercenaries, but true aid had not arrived until Mithrandir had come to the Shire bringing the Rangers in tow. The twin elves had thankfully heard of Mithrandir's call to arms for the Shirelings and followed swiftly with a group of their willing fellows and comrades.

They could never have waited in Rivendell knowing that their Bella was in danger from _orcs_ and various evil creatures. Rivendell did not need them, Bella did. The group that had come with them were familiar with the twins' attachment to the hobbit, but the majority of them had come purely to slaughter orc and goblin scum, not to save a 'tiny halfling wench' who had somehow managed to grasp the favour of their lord and his family.

Only just recently had the twins' father told them that Bella, her husband, and her faunt would be coming to live in Rivendell! Finally would they see their beloved little adventurous hobbit again! And she would be bringing a _faunt_! (Well, not a faunt truly, but a young teen. Still, children were a thing that any elf could appreciate and the brothers were no different.)

Neither of them could allow Bella and her family to be snuffed out of this life, not _ ever _ but most certainly not _ now _.

They and their party had reached the Shire just in time, it had seemed. But it had also been far too late. A single loss of hobbit life to violence was one loss too many and already too many hobbit lives had been lost.

Crossing the Brandywine, they had come across many skirmishes between the Rangers and the few orcs and other creatures, leading aid where they could. Many of their party had been _very _pleased to have the opportunity to end some orcish existence on Middle Earth. But for the most part it had seemed that Mithrandir and the Rangers had the beasts well in hand. The disgusting blights had not made it far into the Shire before meeting the bows and blades of Rangers and their party of elves, along with what little aid the hobbit bounders could offer.

However, soon after letting relief settle into their shoulders, they had been told by the hobbits who had been under attack by the evil creatures that wolves, hungry and feral, had made their way into the Shire much longer ago. The Rangers and hobbit bounders had attempted to do something about the wolves but had needed to abandon that work to respond immediately to orc and warg attacks. As far as anyone knew now, the majority of the wolves in the area had headed west towards Hobbiton.

Towards _Bella_.

Towards _Bella_ , her husband, and her _faunt_ who would be coming to _Rivendell_ as soon as the terrible winter ended; who absolutely _could not_ have their bright, precious lights of life leave this world without them seeing Bella again or meeting her faunt for the first time.

They urged their horses onwards to Hobbiton, the rest of their small party left behind to deal with whatever orcs and such remained and to burn the corpses as was evidenced by the rising smoke cloud behind them. Dread grew steadily in their minds and relief was something they could not now describe because they did not know it, all as they flew across the snow-covered land towards Hobbiton, towards Bag End, towards _Bella_.

They had already been too late once; let them not been too late again.

* * *

Bella's home, which she had affectionately called 'Bag End' in her letters, had been both easy to find and vacant of life. The green door was locked tight and all the windows were boarded up, on both sides from what they could tell.

Clever Bella.

Clever Bella who was _not here_, so it appeared by the fact that the first elf had spent the past ten minutes knocking on the door and calling for an answer without receiving one.

"-ir. Bella? It's us! Are you there?"

"I think that by now it has been sufficiently proven that no one is at home," his twin, the second elf, interrupted sourly from atop his mount by the gate. "I have already informed you of my belief that the residence is vacated and now-"

"No 'I told you so's," the first elf cut in. He frowned at his brother, then turned back to face the round green door that he was far too tall for and knocked on the door again.

His twin pinched his nose. "Come get on your horse before she tries to bite me again."

"Do not be so angry, brother," the first elf murmured, attempting once again to peer through one of the boarded up windows without much luck. "Not all of us can have a way with our equestrian friends. Some elves do not have the talent."

"She bites me because she likes the sounds I make, I heard Glorfindel relay such to Erestor claiming you had said so!"

"Squeak," the first elf said absentmindedly, still leaning nearly in half while trying to peer through the boarded windows.

The second elf startled and scowled. "_ Excuse me-? _"

"You squeak."

"I _ do not _ _ ** squeak** _ _ , _ " the mounted elf hissed, torn between glaring at his brother and his brother's bite-happy horror of a horse who was giving him a look he did _ not _ like.

The first elf hummed, clearly (or clearly to anyone who had spent enough time around the cool faced elven people at least) repressing a smirk. "As you say, brother."

Said brother in question sniffed haughtily, making a shooing motion at his brother's mischievous looking mount (which did absolutely nothing), and settled in to wait for his twin. Finally, after another minute or so, the first elf stood to his full height.

"They have not been away from their home for long," he announced, "It appears that Bella and her family have not been gone longer than a few days at most."

The mounted twin pursed his lips in displeasure, nodding his acceptance. The brother who had been inspecting the Baggins smial (or Took household, as that is what they thought of it as) strode across the snowy garden and more or less stepped over the gate with ease so he could swing himself back on his mare beside his brother.

"We go to the nearest safe house then," stated the surlier of the brothers after his twin had settled himself into the saddle. The unspoken words of, '_ And pray to the Valar that Bella and her family is alive and well _' hung chillingly in the frosty air between them.

"We do," answered the first elf.

They directed their mounts towards the nearest safe house that they knew of, having been informed of all safe house locations by the same hobbits who had told them of the wolves heading towards Hobbiton and Bywater.

So far all they had seen were signs of wolves and signs of hobbits, but not come across the beasts or the Shirelings, which did not bode well in either of their eyes. Their mocking and teasing of each other had been more made out of reassurance to each other than any kind of humour. Dread and worry were deep set in them now, as they rode towards the safe house, though they showed neither. It would not do to remove their composed elven masks, which were already slipping like quicksilver; but_ not here and not now _.

Their hard ride to the hobbits' safe house was quiet and tense. It was easier not to speak at all than to let their tongues speak freely. It was easier to try and pretend, for their short time, that all their worries and suspicions and fears did not exist at all rather than imagine that these fears had already become reality.

After too long a time by the elves' standards, which would have been a remarkably fast travelling speed by a man or hobbit's reckoning, the village containing the safe house finally came into view. Defences against the wolves as far as the Shirelings could manage had been set up and the twin brothers could see a number of hobbits standing watch, armed with sling shots and the occasional bow. The watchmen are surprisingly... _ difficult _to spot even with their superior elven senses, strangely easily to overlook.

"Oh, my brother..." the first elf whispered in barely masked horror as they began to approach the large safe house and refugee haven, "..._ look _."

The second elf followed his twin's line of sight and only lifetimes of battle experience and having seen how easily the death of other creatures came to pass kept him from visibly reacting to the sight. The large safe house, which must have been a meeting hall or something similar of the kind, was quickly ignored in favour of the horror that lay to one side of it, not near the entrance but clear enough to any approaching individuals.

Bodies.

Small bodies covered by sheets to hide their identities. Some of the sheets were slightly stained with a faint red. The dead were lying side by side in the snow, in an oddly neat and terrible row of lifeless hidden corpses. There could not be more than a dozen or so, less from the number that could be seen.

"We should have come_ sooner. _.." the first elf whispers again in hushed horror.

This time his brother does not have the voice to reply. It is all the second elf can do to nod mutely, sharp elven eyes fixed strangely unfocused and lost on the row of the dead hobbits. Such _ small _ and _ tiny _ bodies lie there, far too reminiscent of _ children _.

They approach the safe house, overcome with unknown emotions and morosely pensive, inner turmoil is something that no elf enjoys. The hobbit watchmen let them approach warily – and how it _ hurts _ to see such mistrust and pain in such innocent beings – and the elves dismount with a nod to the guarding Shirelings.

One of the watchers opens the door slightly to call for a person named 'Adamanta.' This sets off a chain of hollers between the watcher and individuals inside the large safe house before a feminine voice yells to ask the elves what they want. All of this is easily picked up by the twins' sensitive elven hearing.

"We are here to see Belladonna Took and family," the first elf volunteers gently to the small watchman. Both of the twins watch the hobbit in front of them pale and sneak a small glance to each other to be assured they are not imagining anything, which assures neither of them.

After a few silent second, the pale hobbit beckons the elven twins to wait outside before he ducks into the safe house. Now that the elves are so close, they can here the sounds of a great number of hobbits chattering and conversing inside. The hobbits must have been truly desperate and unprepared for so many of them to claim refuge like this.

"Missus Adamanta would like to have a word with you," the hobbit watchman says as he slips back out of the large safe house doors, opening one of the doors wider for the elf twins. "She's by the... um, injured; upstairs. Uh, watch your heads?"

The twins nod in thanks, only having to duck slightly to get through the safe house doors which are much larger than regular hobbit size. They find themselves able to stand up straight without too much fear of knocking their heads into the ceiling beams, most of which are a little too low for the brothers' comfort.

Before them in the hallowed hall of the 'safe house' were dozens and dozens of hobbits. Some were sleeping on cots in a corner of the room, some were conversing in small groups, some were sorting through a variety of supplies and taking a few of them to rooms off to the end of the hall (probably a kitchen), and most of the hobbits turned to stare at the elves. A great number of the Shirelings had never seen any kind of 'big folk', and the elf twins would have been even more unnerved at the stares if they had been paying much attention. The watchman who had let them in pointed them towards a staircase just a couple metres away and off to the side, which, unlike the door, was definitely more... hobbit sized.

"Oh," the hobbit watchman realized after the elf twins exchanged a _ look _ between them. "She'll be down in a bit, she says." The elves relaxed slightly, only _ slightly _, as the hobbit watchman went to go tell the hall of hobbits off for staring and to be minding their own business. A few whispers containing Bella's name and the hobbits were hasty to look away.

After a few seconds of waiting, an elderly and elegant hobbit woman came down the stairs and a sad and almost wistful expression crossed her face when her eyes fell on the safe house's tall visitors. She strode forward, calm and composed as well as any elf, but there was a clear anxiety in her eyes and a barely noticeable heaviness to her shoulders that made the brothers tensely attentive.

"Elf sirs," she began nervously but still smoothly, "Andy, says you are here... wanting to see my eldest girl and her family?"

They nodded.

The woman swallowed, her eyes glistening before she steeled herself. "I am most sorry to inform you both that my daughter and her husband passed away several days ago while protecting their friends and neighbours from wolves," she recited formally, woodenly in tone, as if she had had to confirm the death of her daughter and son-in-law to many others since and the pain had dulled her words.

The silence between them was damning as the words of the hobbit woman sunk in.

"We are too late then," the first elf murmured, closing his eyes with a pained sigh. Beside him, his brother stared ahead, expressionless and cold. The small lady before them nodded, her tiny fists clenched at her sides and her eyes blinking away building tears.

The second elf noticed this and immediately knelt in front of the small being, still slightly taller even then. "I am sorry for your loss," he stated softly, "and sorrier still that we have reminded you of it with our presence, Mistress Hobbit."

She smiled sorrowfully. "You may call me Adamanta, and please do not be," she insisted weakly, "I am all cried out at the moment. Bella would have been delighted that you came. My daughter was so looking forward to visiting your home again, she spoke of you both so very often." She chuckled in a doleful and watery fashion at the surprise on the brothers' faces. "Bella was very fond of you. There can't be many pairs of elf twins wandering about Middle Earth."

"Less than many elven parents would like," the kneeling brother agreed sadly.

The elven race did not bear children nearly so easily as hobbits or men, which was perhaps why elves, or those of the Last Homely House East of the Sea at least, took so well to the few travelling Shirelings. The hobbits were so innocent and childlike in some of their ways. It was a cold and apathetic elf who could turn their backs on a child or beings so reminiscent of them.

The brother who still stood let his thoughts follow along the path his brother had brought up with his remark on elven parents until his mind stumbled upon a thought that pulled him from melancholy.

"Mistress Adamanta," he said; his brother and the hobbit turned to look at him with confusion at his almost eager tone, "You have not said anything of the fauntling, what of their child?" His kneeling twin's eyes widened and turned back to face the small hobbit lady.

"Bilbo?" Adamanta replied in surprise, before her face and tone shifted to wary sadness. "He's so mature that it is difficult to remember that he has yet several more years before he comes of age. He survived but... is not faring well."

"How so?" the first elf asked quietly, gracefully kneeling beside his brother so he no longer towered over Mistress Adamanta.

"He participated in distracting the wolves even though many say Bungo told him to go. I believe he witnessed Bella's death but it is so difficult to get him to speak at all now, much less of what happened. Gerontius and I came as soon as we heard of the attack but we have so many responsibilities that there is little time to grieve for ourselves, much less much else."

"May we speak with him?"

Adamanta sighed. "I wouldn't be one to dictate who he can and cannot see. I think that it would do him good to speak with someone other than hobbits trying to bluntly apologize for their gossip and his loss trying to soothe their guilty consciences. Bilbo has had some cruel rumours made of him over the years, you see, and the only persons he truly trusted fully were my daughter and her husband. That's part of why he needed to leave for a time."

"Where is he now?"

"Hiding somewhere in this safe house and trying to grieve quietly. He's a quiet and private fauntling. Gerontius and I... we don't want to play at being his keeper. I suggest you try the kitchens or one of the store rooms if you want to go looking for my grandson now. Call his name while you look, to get his attention. It's a trouble to find Bilbo unless he wants to be found."

"We will find him," the first elf promised, as he and his brother stood to their full heights.

The second elf nodded and bowed, his brother doing the same. "Thank you for your time, Mistress Adamanta," he said politely. "May happier days come to you and your loved ones soon."

"Thank you, Elf sirs. If you find him, please be sure to tell him that Gerontius and I would like to be speaking with him when he feels up to it."

"Of course," the brothers replied at the same time as Adamanta left them with a small curtsy and went back up the stairs.

* * *

Finding Belladonna's faunt quickly turned out to be much more difficult than either of the brothers had anticipated the task to be. They were inwardly devastated to learn that they had been far too late to save their Bella, but the desire to find her surviving child and centuries of practice holding their elven masks kept them from showing their grief.

They searched as much as the safe house as they could, speaking with a few hobbits for aid or directions or _anything_. It had been a surprise to learn that Bilbo was either revered or hated with very little in between by his neighbours, for reasons that no hobbit was willing to disclose to either of the brothers. But no matter their stance on Bilbo, not a single hobbit had seen Belladonna's faunt recently or had any idea where he might be.

After an hour of searching, their keen elven senses picking up no signs of a hiding hobbit and Bilbo not replying to any of their calls, the twins exited the safe house to see to finding somewhere suitable for their mounts while they searched further. Adamanta's husband, the Thain Gerontius Took had told them of a stable where most hobbits were keeping their cart ponies and such, asking only for them to tell Bilbo to speak with him if they found him in return.

The hobbit watchman by the door nodded to them as they passed and appeared overly relieved that the gigantic beasts of horses, who had stayed more or less where the brothers had left them, would no longer be so close to him.

"Bella was always hard to find if she did not want to be found," the first elf remarked easily as they led their horses towards the stable they had been told of.

His brother scowled. "Never this difficult," he replied. Then he sighed and confessed quietly, "Though I... am having difficulty telling myself that she is truly gone and that she has not simply finally gotten the better of us in a game of hiding and seeking."

"You are not alone in that difficulty, my brother," the first elf responded just as softly. "It has always seemed cruel to me that time and death be so kind to our people alone. How can it truly be justified that beings that live such bright and short lives be able to leave such a great impact on our own long ones?"

"Your philosophy reminds me of a saying of the men that Gilraen once told to me," the second elf remarked, his tone lightening slightly.

"Oh?"

"'Love is the greatest hurt that can be deemed worth the pain'."

"_O_h."

The second elf ran his long fingers through his mount's mane. "I believe I can finally fully understand what she meant," he whispered, loud enough for only his brother to hear.

They have both lost before, but not so _recently_ nor so _completely_. Their mother had long ago left them for Grey Havens but she had not _died_. She had not gone so suddenly without any chance of saying farewell.

The rest of their walk to the hobbits' stable is silent except for the sounds of their horses making their way through the snow as the brothers walk above it.

They greet the few hobbits inside and give a minimal explanation to their presence, assuring the hobbits they will take care of their own mounts, which are the largest the hobbits have ever seen. It is easy to lead their horses to a comfortable pair of stalls – no where close to the horses' homes in Rivendell but nice enough for now and most importantly _warm –_ and let their bodies move through the familiar motions of seeing to the comfort and health of their mounts.

After ensuring their mounts' comfort and happiness for the foreseeable future, the brothers make their way back to the meeting hall made safe house to continue searching for Bella's faunt. To be sure that he is safe, healthy, cared for. To let him know that the friendship and invitations made to his motion extended to him and did not die with her.

They loved their little Bella like a second sister, her faunt would know the friendship of Imaldris as well as she.

Unfortunately, the row of the covered dead is visible to the twin brothers as they return to the Shireling safe house. The second elf does not let his eyes fall upon the tiny corpses again, but the first cannot tear his eyes away as he wonders with terrible pain in his heart if Bella and her husband are among them.

This wondering allows him to notice an indent in the snow at the end of the row of the dead, and he is struck with the spontaneous urge to follow Mistress Adamanta's advice in searching for Bilbo. Much like the way he had followed his instincts when searching for Bella when they played their hiding and searching games. He stops.

"BILBO!" The first elf calls, ignoring the bewildered glance his brother gives him. "Bilbo? Are you there?"

He is struck by old memories, as Bella's faunt seems to appear as if he had always been there, sitting in the snow next to the dead lying side by side. It would seem that Bella had passed on her tricks to her child. The second elf lets out a near-silent sound of surprise.

They stride over to the small hobbit as fast as they can while still appearing dignified and _not_ appearing dangerous or intimidating for fear of scaring him off.

Bella's fau-... _Bilbo_ watches them approach with the faintest spark of interest in otherwise dead eyes. He is tiny to them, clearly a young hobbit close to adulthood but not quite there. But he was also incredibly heartbreaking, sitting so small there in the cold wintery whiteness by the two bodies at the end of the row that both brothers do not have to look under the blankets to know are most likely Belladonna and her husband, Bungo.

Bilbo's eyes are trained on the brother's feet walking on the snow. He appears to be fascinated by their walking on the snow as though they weigh absolutely nothing, almost floating above it.

"Greetings, little one," the first elf greets, as they both kneel down before him so they do not loom over him. They _still_ loom over him of course, but not so greatly as they would if they were standing. Bilbo is sitting, but even if he were standing he would most likely be even shorter than the tiny Adamanta, his grandmother.

The small hobbit looks at them, his eyes flickering between their identical faces. He thankfully does not appear to have lost all care for life and the living, but the brothers can both see that if he were an elf they would likely not have to observe him long to see signs of Fading.

"I am Elladan," the first elf introduces, giving as graceful a bow as he can manage while kneeling on snow. It is still a near flawless bow.

"And I am Elrohir," his brother, the second elf, states while giving the same bow that his twin had. They do not say anything else, partly due to that they do not know what exactly to say. It is simpler to let silence lull between them as they wait for the hobbit's reaction.

Bilbo stares at them for a few moments. "I know," he says blandly, his voice a near whisper from disuse on top of grief. "Mum talked a lot about you." He waves a delicate hand towards one of the cloth-covered bodies, one of the most red-stained of the row. "'Specially since we were going to visit an' all. Don't suppose that'll be happening now."

Neither Elladan nor Elrohir have much to such to this at first, not when they have been so carelessly informed that the petite corpse beneath the cloth mere feet away belonged to their beloved little Bella. Pain reigns close to the surface as it has not in centuries.

"Oh. Bilbo Baggins, at your service," the hobbit remarks dully, like an afterthought. Proper manners drilled into him deep enough to be important even now as he stares lifelessly at his parents' bodies, ignoring the grieved expressions on the elven brothers.

Elladan, the first elf, tears his eyes away from the cloth-covered corpses and looks Bilbo over with soft grey eyes.

"You must be cold, little one," he says gently. "May we speak with you somewhere warmer? You do not appear to be clothed to be sitting in the snow for long."

Bilbo looks down at his simple trousers, shirt, and jacket, which he must be absolutely _freezing_ in, and shrugs. "I don't really Notice the cold anymore," he admits sadly. "It's a lot easier than trying to keep the cold from Noticing me anyway."

"Little one, _please_," Elladan implores, deciding to neglect to Bilbo's confusing admission for now.

Looking up into twin sets of light grey eyes, it is easy to see all the kindness, worry, and grief in the faces of the elf brothers. They have let their elven masks drop away, and it is always easiest to recognize the sadness and sincerity in kindred grieving spirits. Bilbo pushes himself up to stand on furry feet; he is indeed still smaller than Elladan and Elrohir kneeling while he stands.

"Okay," he agrees.

Elladan and Elrohir stand slowly, unwilling to let their eagerness betray them and unsure whether or not the eagerness comes from speaking to Belladonna's teen faunt or from an urge to take him and themselves as far from his parents' dead bodies as possible.

Knowing that Bilbo has been and will be a subject of gossip and stares if they return to the safe house, which did not appeal to him and likely did not appeal to Bilbo as well, Elrohir leads their group back towards the stables. It is suitably warm there and not so crowded, which will be much better for any discussion they wish to have.

If the few hobbits working at the stables are surprised at Bilbo Baggins walking between two tall elves, they only show it by pointing the group towards a roaring fireplace at one end of the stables and vacating the area. Elladan directs Bilbo to stand by the fire and warm himself while Elrohir pulls a couple stools and a chair closer to the fireplace for them to sit on. After Bilbo and Elrohir are seated, Elladan pulls off his thick silver-grey cloak and places it over Bilbo's shoulders before seating himself.

"Thank you," Bilbo says, surprised. His thanks more out of gratefulness than reflex, unlike how his introduction had been, and his voice not nearly so dour and dull as it had been before.

The hobbit looks the cloak over, some aspect of the silver-grey fabric seeming to fascinate him, before he looks at Elladan and Elrohir and a bit of sadness returns to his eyes.

"Mum would have really loved to see you," Bilbo whispered, then sighed and closed his eyes wearily. "She'll be so cross she missed you. She was looking forward to seeing you again _so_ much, told me every story she knew... _twice_."

"Stories?" Elrohir asks.

"Yeah. About you. About Rivendell. About elves. Every last bit she could remember. Da wasn't keen on going but Mum was just _so excited_. I was too, even if I didn't have much of a choice about going."

Neither of the brothers account the last bit of Bilbo's words to what Adamanta had said about rumours or gossip, both assuming that their Bella's bossiness and forcefulness hadn't left her family much other options than what she wanted to do.

Bilbo sighs, eyes shining somewhat. "I guess she won't get to go now," he ponders morosely. "She _really, really wanted to_ too. Wanted to show me everything, have me meet everyone. That won't be happening now." A single tear glides its way down Bilbo's cheek as silence lulls between the three save for the sounds made by the equestrian residents of the stables.

Elrohir watches Bilbo's dejected tears with a pained look in his eyes. "Would you still like to come to Imaldris, small one?" He offers.

Elrohir lays a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder while not taking his eyes off Bilbo. He can tell that Elladan is distressed slightly by Bilbo's words that so callously bring up the loss of Bella again and again, because he is also.

"Pardon?" Bilbo asks, though the sharpness of his speech makes it sound more like a demand than anything else.

"We are deeply hurt by and sorry for the loss of your mother. She was elf-friend, as well as a great friend to us both," Elrohir tells the small hobbit. "But the invitation to our home extended beyond Bella, and it did not die with her."

Elladan nods, having recovered from his silent and heavily masked distress. "Belladonna Took _and_ _her family_ are welcome in Imaldris, Bilbo Baggins," he says.

"Whenever they wish..." Elrohir begins.

"...for however long they wish to stay," Elladan finishes.

"It was not an invitation made lightly."

"The House of Elrond does not set its friends aside..."

"..._especially_ in times of need."

Elladan bows his head slightly while seated on his stool. "We would be honoured..."

"...if you would still deign to visit the Last Homely House, small one."

"Our home is ever open to you, little one..."

"...to visit or to grieve, if only for pleasure or on a whim, whatever your need or reason may be," Elrohir states firmly.

Bilbo stares at them both, clutching Elladan's cloak around him tightly.

"Do you practice that?" Bilbo asks curiously, causing the elven brothers to look at him in confusion.

"Practice what?" The twins' reply at the same time, which makes Bilbo give them a _look_ that is far too familiar and similar to Bella and her glares.

"The speaking together. Do you practice finishing each others sentences?"

The brothers exchange a glance between them.

"We do. Though it annoyed your mother greatly when we did so," Elladan confesses. "Bella did not like it because she said it was too much work and too confusing to have to follow our shared speech."

Elrohir nods. "It also greatly annoys our father and sister. But you must swear not to tell him that we have practice to have this skill. They both possess Gifts of Sight and Knowing."

"We have told them that we possess a gift all of our own..."

"...and that to stifle our gift would be to insult the ones who gave it to us."

"They cannot know that it is not otherwise..."

"...because it is too much fun to cease doing so."

Bilbo stared at them both before he places his face in his hands and his shoulders begin to shake from silent laughter. The brothers are greatly considered that he crying between before he reveals his face to wipe away the tear tracks of before.

"Mum said you said that you had some gift that let you speak switching between you and that it was the most annoying thing," Bilbo tells the twins when he stops. "She made herself so angry recalling your way of speaking that she ranted about it for an entire afternoon and couldn't do the dishes for fear she'd break some." He sighs again. "I miss her... it's only been_ four days _and I miss her and Da _so much_."

Elladan places his own hand on Elrohir's still on his shoulder. "We have not known of your loss for not much longer than it hour and we miss her. We had not seen her in many years and still we have never missed her so keenly as we do now. But while we all are less for having lost her..."

"...we are more for having known her," Elrohir says wisely. "You are allowed to miss the ones you love no matter how long they have been gone, whether it be for a short time or long..."

"...or whether they will return or they won't," Elladan finishes for his brother. "Never be ashamed for feeling the loss of something you love, but never let it hold you back."

Bilbo smiles weakly. "Old elvish advice?" He asks jokingly.

"We would that it were so, but it is not," Elladan admits.

"It is advice told to us by one of our mortal friends," Elrohir explains. "She lost much and became more for it, although she said that she would been much more if she had not lost at all. But she was more thankful for what she still had than focused on what she had lost."

Bilbo looks between them, his weak smile still holding.

"The Shire hasn't been much of a home to me recently," the young hobbit admits. "And I would like nothing more than to leave as soon as this blasted winter is over... if it ever ends."

Both Elladan and Elrohir's starlight-grey eyes narrow at the former half of these words though they say nothing. They resolve to discover exactly _why_ this would be so _later_ and, if they have their way, correct it _immediately_.

"I believe that I would be honoured to accept your invitation to Rivendell. So long as my grandparents say it'll be fine; they probably will," Bilbo says as cheerfully as he can manage to the elven twins, then continues in a sadder tone. "Though I dearly wish that I wasn't accepting it for a party of one."

"We wish it were so also," Elrohir agrees, smiling faintly at Bilbo despite the mutual pain of loss between them all.

"Bilbo Baggins," Elladan tells the young hobbit brightly. "The House of Elrond would be greatly honoured by your presence."

* * *

_A/N: So to answer a question, no, there probably won't be a pairing in this. While I do enjoy pairings, a pairing doesn't really fit into what I have planned for this story. Sorry about that. I'm mostly going to follow the canon road left by the books and the movies, and I don't remember any make-out scenes during either of those. I think those were all figments of my imagination. _

_Also, I said it got better, didn't I? I love Elladan and Elrohir. It's such a shame we never got to meet them in the movies._


	5. Survive

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of what I am so clearly making a travesty of here, nor am I receiving any profit for my mutilation of Mister Tolkien and Mister Jackson's series. I apologize to any die-hard fans out there who have memorized the Simarillion and take offence to this fic. But way to go for actually memorizing that, I don't understand why you'd want to do that, but way to go. _

* * *

**Chapter Five: Survive**

_(verb) to remain alive after the death of someone, the cessation of something, or the occurrence of some event; continue to live._

Time passed by with its usual fickle flounce; too long in some moments and far too short in others. Yet despite time's flighty ways, the formidable Fell Winter eased off into a more regular one that was finally beginning to fully melt into spring.

As soon as the worst of the weather passed, Bilbo could not be held back any longer from returning to the green door of Bag End. He could no longer abide the pitying, sorrowful, or still hateful stares directed his way. So he gathered some supplies, told his grandparents he was off, and retreated to hide in the snug and cozy hobbit hole from all the busybodies who wanted something from him that he could not give... a smile, his inheritance, his forgiveness, the story of what had happened out in those woods, whatever.

And where Bilbo went, Elladan and Elrohir followed. They had bent their heads to the low ceilings of Bag End and made themselves at home despite the fact they were _very much_ not the right size for the smial even if Bag End was larger and had taller ceilings than the average hobbit hole. They did not hit their heads even once. (Or did not admit it if they did, at least.)

It was so _hard_ to get up in the mornings now, it was so _hard_ to do everything now really. All Bilbo wanted to do was avoid all memories of his parents and be left alone because he really couldn't _stand_ to be around people_ at all _now.

And yet, it was actually fairly easy to be around the elven twins. His mother had told him of the supposed coldness of elves and their subdued emotions hidden behind elven masks. Elves were invulnerable to age and disease; they would live until the end of the world unless they fell to the sword or their own sorrow.

_Fading _they called it, when an elf died from heartbreak and loss too deep to live through.

(Bilbo wondered if he could fade. Just fade away and everything would just... _stop_.)

Belladonna had hypothesized from what she'd read and what she'd observed from the elves during her stay at Rivendell, that elves did not like to show strong negative emotions. Sadness and grief reminded the elves too much of their brethren who had fallen to deepest sorrow and of their own fears of terrible things coming to pass that would send them into their own fatal depression, so she said an elf had revealed to her.

The elves were practised in hiding their sadness and grief from the outside world and so, Belladonna had guessed, they had long subdued their emotions enough to hide a great many of them whether they be negative or positive. Therefore, the elves could appear cold and emotionless to the people outside their own race.

His mother had been sure to remind Bilbo to remember that the elven race felt their emotions very deeply, even if they did not show it well... or at all.

With Elladan and Elrohir's simple and solemn grief, their manner so respectful of Bilbo's own pain, Bilbo found it fairly easy to allow the twins to speak to him and get close without feeling the utter need to isolate himself from them like he did from his neighbours and relatives.

As soon as winter had begun to thaw and the news had spread, hobbits had flocked to Bag End to intrude on his grief and his home. Many were now horrified that they had treated the young hobbit so badly and now he had lost both of his parents! They hurried to Bag End to assure Bilbo that they were so sorry for their actions and his loss, to beg Bilbo to assuage their guilty consciences. (Maybe get some good gossip material by finding out what had happened to Belladonna and Bungo, or sneak their way into the young hobbit's good graces, perhaps. This would be the next Baggins of Bag End, and Bilbo was quite the rich and influential hobbit no matter what anybody thought of his knack.) But Bilbo did not want to hear their demands for forgiveness, nor did he want to give it.

Elladan and Elrohir had laughed greatly at the hobbits' expressions the first time they had opened the smial door and curtly informed the Shirelings that Bilbo was indisposed at this moment in time. The tiny little hobbits were stunned speechless at the tall elf warriors answering Bag End's green door. After that, several hobbits came to knock on Bilbo's door simply to see the graceful twin elves.

The brothers had continued to act as guards of the green door of Bag End without complaint, turning all visitors away save for Gerontius and Adamanta who would drop by for tea every now and again to ask how things were coming along. The visits were tense but... _almost_ nice.

Elrohir quickly fashioned a sign that read, '_No admittance, on __**any**__ business.'_ The more dour of the elven twins had taken an odd glee in hanging it on the gate and watching hobbits try to decide whether or not to intrude when _specifically_ told not to. He had also taken the same pleasure in turning away all of Bilbo's nosy Baggins relatives (who could not insist that Bilbo do anything or insult him when they could not see him) without listening to a word they had said, so Bilbo didn't pay much mind to it.

It did not take Bilbo long to be able to tell the twins apart. He had always been observant, with his knack for Noticing things, and it was much easier to focus on the elves than wallow in his own grief at times. Elves had always been fascinating to him, and Elladan and Elrohir were _new_, they only reminded him of mother when he allowed himself to connect them to the many stories she'd told him of them.

Both brothers were the epitome of elvish grace and beauty, as well as the cold hardness of elven warriors. When together around those they did not know, they did their utmost to be impossible to tell apart and never let their elven masks drop. But they were spirited and quick to laugh when they were relaxed; knowledgeable and understanding and overall pleasant to be around.

They did not have Unnoticeable-ness of their own, but they had a certain glow about them that no hobbit possessed that Bilbo put to their being elves. Despite their lack of Unnoticeable-ness, Bilbo could still tell when they Noticed him. It was like the sound of a flute, sometimes high and sharp (but still beautiful), sometimes soft and lovely. The sounds were nothing like wind chimes or a heavy brass bell, but they were nice enough to hear. They Noticed him always since he had not let his Unnoticeable-ness wrap around him since he had first shown himself to them (and he still did not know why he had done that).

Elladan was the more openly kind and gentle of the twins; much more mellow and compassionate. He was often softly teasing, especially of his brother, but never cruel. The elf often seemed to be the more vulnerable of the two and let his elven mask drop enough for Bilbo to learn that Elladan was truly saddened by any loss of innocent life to violence, even if he only really mourned for Bilbo's mother. It had been a bit of a surprise to learn that Elladan was actually the eldest of the twins.

Elrohir seemed much more suited to be the eldest, as he was the more cynical and sarcastic, as well as vigilant, of the two. He was no less kind or gentle than his brother, but he did not show it nearly so easily. Elrohir was surly and always appeared to be watching out for his brother and for Bilbo. He was extremely protective of Bilbo's privacy once Bilbo let it be known he did not want to see anyone except the twins and his grandparents.

(Bilbo had sent off a letter to the Tooks that he wished to be alone for a time; he did not think he could stand for any attempts to cheer him up, truthfully, and the Tooks would likely not be able to help trying.)

The elf twins had rarely left Bilbo by himself for too long, with only the occasional trip to see about any surviving wolves or wargs and to meet with the party of elves that had come with them. No matter how many times he snapped at them or said something cutting, whether he intentionally meant to cause them pain or no, they did not give up.

They would draw him out for meals, coaxing him to cook by playing on upbringing that demands he fulfil his duties as their host. Or cooking for him and drawing him into conversation while he ate so that he did not think of how much he did not feel like eating.

Elvish food was quite good if Elrohir was the one to make it, as Elladan had cheerfully proven he should not be involved in any of the process save bringing in the results of his hunt. (It had truly been a _terrible_ experience. Bilbo believes he may have been one of the first non-elves to ever see an elf be _sick_. Elrohir had been _extremely _displeased with his elder brother.)

They would pull him out into the parlour during the evenings and try to speak with him. They sat him in his favourite chair and placed various books and his sewing and embroidery projects next to him. Elladan and Elrohir did not care if he did not speak and simply read or sewed, nor did they care if he sat with the book or thread on his lap unable to go any further, _nor_ did they care if he sat there without speaking having been unable to pick up the book or needle at all. They would speak to each other, conversing and teasing, or speak to him unconcerned that sometimes he did not reply.

They would push him outside into the garden slowly recovering from the harsh winter. While neither Elladan or Elrohir had much skill in gardening, they quickly proved to be _absolutely disastrous_ when left to their own devices. Bilbo is likely the first _person _to_ ever_ see two grown elves absolutely covered in mud with blank (Elrohir) and sheepish (Elladan) expressions and no explanations as to _how_ or _why _it had happened_._

They managed to pull him out into the garden several times to fix whatever disaster they have caused _now _and it is _completely and achingly_ transparent to all three of them what the twins are doing. But none of them speak of it and Bilbo feels a little better to sink his feet into the mud and his hands into the dirt again.

It is Elladan who finds the few books in Sindarin that the Bag End library has to offer. Bilbo's mother had been preparing to teach him what little she knew but they had never gotten around to it in the end. From then on, the twins make a point of teaching Bilbo the names of things in Sindarin whether he wants to learn or not. Thankfully, Bilbo does want to learn. He has always loved languages and the twins are not so obviously but still visibly pleased that Bilbo is willing to take an interest in something again.

It is Elrohir who finds the bow and arrows that once belonged to Belladonna. He offers to teach Bilbo, but that brings up a host of memories of him watching his mother shoot as a faunt and the wonderful first time she had let him try on his own even though he had been awful.

Bilbo refuses immediately to have anything to do with it and becomes surly and snappish for the next few days. But he does eventually begin to finger the bow that Elrohir has left by Bilbo's favourite chair in the parlour, and a week later comes to apologize and ask if Elrohir's offer still stands.

It does, and Bilbo's aim is still awful.

At the end of the day, Bilbo still felt like letting his Unnoticeable-ness wrap around him and climbing into bed and never getting out; just disappearing forever. But the feeling is less so in the mornings now, which is the important thing.

He wonders why he has not _completely_ snapped at Elladan and Elrohir for their antics and decides that it must be because they are not trying to cheer him up at all, they are simply trying to bring him back into a semblance of life instead of mere survival. It is annoying sometimes, but no matter Bilbo's flux of ugly moods or occasional cutting words, they do not leave him or rescind the invitation to Rivendell. They refuse to abandon the son of Belladonna Took, and deep inside, Bilbo is grateful for this.

When the snow and ice are finally all gone, several months after the arrival of Elladan and Elrohir, things are... better. Almost.

Gerontius and Adamanta come for tea again, to tell Bilbo that the ground thawed enough to bury his parents a while ago and a memorial service will be held soon. And that while Bilbo has managed to keep his relatives and nosy hobbits away from Bag End, they won't be able to keep their neighbours and other hobbits away from the memorial.

"Of course, we will never make you do anything you don't want to, sweet," Adamanta says, smiling a little weakly at her grandson. "It's simply that people will... talk if you don't go."

Old Took harrumphs. "Not like they don't talk already," he grumbles.

"Yes, they do at that. Anyway, the choice is yours, Bilbo dear. If you would like to be a part of the service then you just let us know. If you don't go at all then we'll tell them we had our own private ceremony," Adamanta assures Bilbo (and the rather intimidating elves sitting in chairs that are laughably small for them). "Whatever you like, sweet. It's two weeks away. And if you feel like packing up and setting out with your elves before that, then we won't stop you."

"Just give us a chance to set affairs in order and say goodbye, eh?" Gerontius says. "And come back for visits now and again. I'll be damned if that Otho Sackville-Baggins tries to get me to hand over my daughter's smial by claiming you're dead."

Adamanta's gentle manner turns sour for the first time the twins have ever seen (Bilbo can count the number of times he's seen his grandmother get mean on both hands and all times had been terrifying.) "His mother will most certainly _try_," she says with a disapproving sniff and a deep scowl.

The rest of tea goes about as well as it can with Bilbo still not up to holding long conversations and otherwise consisting entirely of two elf warriors and two elderly hobbits who haven't the faintest _how_ to speak to each other or _what_ to speak of. Bilbo manages to give a half-convincing smile and wave as his grandparents leave, and both Adamanta and Gerontius beam at him.

He loves his grandparents dearly. They do not entirely understand him and he does not entirely understand them, but they understand enough to know that despite his young age, coddling him or trying to contain him in any way will not be taken well.

Bilbo knows Elladan and Elrohir had a very long conversation with his grandparents, after which Adamanta and Gerontius gave their full permission for Bilbo to go to Rivendell this spring. All they had asked for were a few letters of correspondence and a promise not to be gone forever, and assured Bilbo that Bag End would be waiting for him no matter what those nasty Baggins relatives said.

"Do you think you will go, small one?" Elrohir asks.

Bilbo hums in non-committal agreement, making sure to place his teacup so that the sunbeams shining through the window make it gleam just the right way.

"I think I will," Bilbo says.

Elladan smiles softly. "Will you speak?"

"Maybe when I'm alone with them, I think."

The twins nod in perfect understanding.

"Would you like us to be there? At the service?" Elladan asks.

Bilbo's eyes don't leave his empty, gleaming teacup. "I think... I think Mum would have liked you there," he ventures. "Da too... if he'd met you."

Elrohir nods, "Then we will be there. When would you like to depart for Imaldris? Now that you know when the memorial will be."

"Can we leave the day after?"

"Of course."

It was cathartic to go through the things that make up Bag End, to sort them, to pack them away in storage so they wouldn't get damaged while he was gone. It was also _very_, _very painful. _But it helped probably half as well as it hurt, so that was likely pretty good.

Elladan and Elrohir had been an enormous help as the three worked hard to prepare to leave in less than a fortnight. Bilbo can easily admit that he often finds himself distracted after finding a knick-knack that brings up too many memories. The elves pack as Bilbo directs them and help to put together the things that Bilbo will need for travel and his stay at Rivendell.

Apparently his things are nowhere near suitable for long journeys, but he supposes that makes sense since he's never been on anything longer than the occasional ramble through the nearby forests.

Elladan is horrified that Bilbo does not have a proper travelling cloak or jacket or _anything_, and immediately gives Bilbo his own silver-grey cloak and refuses to take it back even though it's much too long for the young hobbit. He stoutly states that he has no need for a cloak at all since it is spring now, that as an elf, he does not need it.

Elrohir promises Bilbo that they will see to it that Bilbo has decent gear for travelling once they reach Bree, and that they'll get Bilbo _proper_ travelling gear in Rivendell. Neither of them listen to _any_ of Bilbo's many protests on either matters. He supposes he should have paid a bit more attention to his mother's stories that told him just how stubborn the elven brothers can be.

In the end, Bilbo is left fixing the cloak to temporarily suit his height while the twins finish packing up Bag End and what little of it that Bilbo is bringing with him. There's quite a bit of bunching and folding involved, and weak stitches that his father would be ashamed of so he'll be able to return the cloak to the way it was and return it to Elladan.

He is honestly fascinated by Elladan's cloak though, and cannot honestly say that he regrets not at all being given the opportunity to study the strange silver-grey fabric more closely. It is elven-made, so Elrohir tells him when he asks, but neither Elrohir nor Elladan can give any more detail on how the cloak or the fabric was made.

Bilbo believes them. The twins have made more than one mess of his sewing projects by now, and he could not honestly say whether or not it had been purely to get Bilbo to do something by having him undo their horrific work or because they were actually trying to become involved in his interests and failed miserably.

There is a faint... Unnoticeable-ness to the cloak. Bilbo is intrigued more than his grief-induced state had allowed recently. He has never seen anything other than a hobbit with its own Unnoticeable-ness, much less an inanimate object.

Elrohir had gone on to elaborate that elven cloaks were particularly good for camouflage and for passing by unseen, but his knowledge on the subject had been disappointingly lacking. Bilbo dearly hoped that here would be an elf in Rivendell who could reveal to him the secrets of the Unnoticeable-ness that clings to the silver-grey cloaks.

And as far as he can tell, neither Elladan nor Elrohir know anything of hobbits and their Unnoticeable knacks (though from what he can notices, they definitely suspect _something_ of the sort is happening), and neither of them show any signs of knowing of or Noticing the Unnoticeable-ness on their own cloaks.

The day of the memorial service for Bungo Baggins and Belladonna Took arrives with little fanfare, but with much anticipation.

Bilbo dresses himself in his best clothes, tries and fails to tame his curly hair (but doesn't think much of it because there are few hobbits who can), and wonders if anyone will pay much attention to the ragged weariness he cannot seem to lose no matter if he can sleep or not. They most like will, he is hot gossip after all.

Elladan and Elrohir put little effort into looking their best, but they still look three times nicer than Bilbo could _ever_ hope to appear. It must be an elvish thing, he decides, they still looked better than he did when they were covered in mud from _whatever unknown antics_ they had gotten up to in the garden.

They arrive as late as they can before the service is set to begin. Many probably see it as rude, and others likely make derogatory comments about Bilbo's sense of self-importance as he arrives flanked by a handsome pair of twin elves. But Bilbo just wants to make sure that there is as little possibility for those paying their respects to his parents to speak to him as possible.

The crowd is enormous. His mother was a well-liked hobbit even if she hadn't been the picture of respectability. (Several Tooks wave cheerily at him before they remember the occasion.) His father, on the other hand, had been an extremely respectable hobbit. Bungo had been an adviser to the Thain as well as to any hobbit who'd needed a nudge in the right directions, and also the unofficial mediator of Hobbiton. It only makes sense that the whole _half of the entire bloody Shire _would be here, even if Bilbo wasn't nearly so well liked as his parents had been.

Elladan and Elrohir make it their mission to glare at any hobbit who tries to approach him, and some still push through anyway. He thanks them for their sympathy and moves on as quick as he can. He would love nothing more than to let himself be Unnoticeable and stay that way, but he refuses to have any hobbit be able to spread the rumour that he did not even show his face at his own parents' memorial service. He owes his mum and da that, he thinks.

The service starts soon, and it is nice enough at the beginning. His grandparents start with a few opening words, then share their own stories of Belladonna Took and Bungo Baggins. Adamanta tells the story of how her daughter and Bungo met and fell in love, sharing some things that Bilbo didn't know about his parents and making more than a few people laugh at the antics of young hobbits in love.

Halfway through, Bilbo realizes he's crying. Tears are streaming endlessly down his cheeks and he cannot make them cease, even though he can see the hobbits around him staring and he does not want them to see him cry. Elladan hands Bilbo a handkerchief, one of Bilbo's own actually, and Elrohir pulls a few more handkerchiefs that they have obviously 'borrowed' from Bag End out of his pocket.

Adamanta finishes her story and she is crying too by the end of it, more than a few hobbits are. She lays a bundle of flowers at the stones that will mark his parents' graves, and the service moves on.

His Took uncles laughingly bring up Belladonna's fiery temper through their tears, and one of his Took aunts jokes about Bungo's stiffness and rigid propriety that 'Bella knocked out of him, right fast'. Even a few of his Baggins relatives speak, Fosco and his wife, Ruby. Their words are kind and respectful of both Bungo and Belladonna. He has always liked Fosco and Ruby.

More hobbits speak, recalling the best and worst of his parents and laying their own bundles of flowers at the graves. Bilbo cries silently through the entire ceremony, Elladan and Elrohir strong and constant at his side.

After the service is over, Bilbo hides Unnoticeable until all the hobbits have gone. He knows more than a few were looking for him, and he knows that Elladan and Elrohir unhelpfully pointed any hobbits who asked them in absolutely incorrect directions.

When the crowd has cleared entirely, Bilbo lets his Unnoticeable-ness fall off him as he steps up to the graves, uncaring if Elladan and Elrohir see him appear seemingly from nowhere _again_. He will likely tell them sooner or later, but for now he simply wants to speak with his parents in a conversation that is long overdue after months of avoiding any mention of them.

"I'd like to be alone now," Bilbo tells the twins.

Elladan and Elrohir shake off their surprise at Bilbo's sudden appearance and glide away to give him privacy. They will question him on the matter eventually, but not today, not now.

Bilbo turns back to the graves, where his _parents _are, and takes a deep breath. His cheeks are still wet although he has finally stopped crying. His eyes are red and puffy.

"Hullo Mum," he says, "Hullo Da."

They leave for Rivendell the next day with everything in order. Bag End has mostly been packed away and the furniture has sheets draped over it. The key has been left with Gerontius and Adamanta, and Bungo and Belladonna's wills clearly state that no one will be taking Bag End away from Bilbo while he is still alive no matter his age.

Elladan and Elrohir have said nothing on the subject of his knack (not that they would know what a knack was in the first place). Instead, the twins have been extremely excited in their subdued elvish way to be returning to their home. Their comrades that had come with them had left the Shire not long after they had arrived, and the brothers are personally eager to see their father and their friends again.

The twins swing into their saddles with well practised ease after helping Bilbo onto his own small pony, the origin of which Bilbo does not know nor how exactly the brothers managed to procure her.

Riding (actually, more accurately... 'being carried by') a beast bigger than he is is unsettling to say the least. And no matter what Elladan assures or Elrohir bluntly states, Bilbo is pretty sure the pony could murder him and make it look like an accident if she put her mind to it.

As the three finally set off, Elladan stretches his long arms to the sky and grins. "Oh, how it will be lovely to see the hallowed halls of our home again," he says joyously. "I have missed being able to stand up straight while indoors!"

Elrohir huffs quietly, which is the elvish equivalent of a snort, Bilbo supposes. It would probably be far too undignified for an elf to actually _snort_.

"Our father will be extremely pleased to see you, little one," Elladan continues. "He had a great fondness for your mother, and often believed her over us whenever a prank went terribly wrong no matter whether we had done the deed or not."

Bilbo laughs, a delighted and happy sound, which startles both brothers slightly. Bilbo has not once reacted truly positively to any mention of his parents before now. In the earliest days after the loss had set in, more than a passing mention of their Bella would have kept him from speaking for _days_ much less make him _laugh_.

"I promise that I won't do anything of the sort," Bilbo chuckles. He then fixes both brothers with a very meaningful look as he continues, "I'd love to hear more stories of my mum's time in Rivendell, actually. Your sides of stuff, especially."

"Ah," Elladan says, a wide smile on his face.

Elrohir's normally expressionless face mirrors his brother's in this instance. "We would be delighted to tell you as much as we can," he states grandly. "Though we cannot promise to give objective versions of a great many of incidents considering our roles in her schemes, knowing or not."

"I would never expect otherwise when it comes to my mother," Bilbo assures them, a faint smile on his face even if a touch of sadness still lingered in his eyes.

Things were... looking up now, as the three, two elves and one hobbit, travelled along the road towards old home and new. For the first time in his life, before he can even come of age, Bilbo Baggins left Bag End of Bagshot Row, Hobbiton, behind. He left the Shire...

...and he did not look back.

* * *

_A/N: I don't have anything to say.  
_

_...  
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_Hi?_


	6. Respectable Life of a Gentle-hobbit I

_Disclaimer: I'm considering what it might to like to marathon the Hobbit movies and then LOTR after that, extended editions. I mean, my friends and I did an extended edition LOTR movies marathon once and that was nearly twelve hours long. There is absolutely no reason to attempt doing any such thing, but I think I'd get some sort of sick pride out of accomplishing it. Because really, in my mind, actually accomplishing that would be damn impressive. If anyone manages that, let me know, because dude, dudette, or other-dude of a non-binary nature. Whoa. Virtual high-five. _

_Oh yeah, right. I don't own anything and I don't profit from this at all. _

* * *

**Chapter Six: The Respectable Life of a Gentle-hobbit Part I**

_The life of a respected but not exactly respectable gentle-hobbit, specifically the last Baggins of Bag End, who is quite possibly entirely mad by most hobbit standards. / Ten years later..._

For the next ten years, the hobbits who lived in the neighbourhood of 'The Hill' (as they called it, on and in which Bag End had been built) lived for time out of mind. And in return, time did not mind them much either.

Life went on after the horrifying Fell Winter and the Shire returned to being the green and happy place it had been before. Full of numerous, prosperous, and happy hobbits. If a few hobbits breathed a sigh of relief when the winter snow began to melt each year... well, that wasn't very important, was it?

In the beginning it was odd for many to see the green door at the top of the hill with no smoke coming out the chimney and the garden growing untamed. Bag End had never been empty before, it had had a Baggins in Bag End since Bungo had built it for Belladonna. But in the end Hobbiton just got used to the empty smial on Bagshot Row, and they got used to there not being a Baggins there either.

In fact, the only thing that happened in those ten years involving Bag End and the current lack of Baggins in it was after Otho Sackville-Baggins married Lobelia Bracegirdle. Bilbo had not returned and was therefore likely dead, according to the loathsome couple, so it was only right that Bag End go to Otho.

Gerontius Took had _not _been pleased, in fact, he'd been so angry that he hadn't been able to formulate a coherent response for the hobbits trying to take _his daughter's _home that his son-in-law had built _for_ _her_ with mostly _her_ money. It had been Adamanta who had coolly informed the new Mrs Otho Sackville-Baggins that Bag End belonged to Bilbo from his mother, so even if Bilbo was dead then it would go to the _Tooks_ not to the _Baggins_. Mrs Chubb-Took had practically thrust copies of Belladonna and Bungo's wills in Lobelia's face and waved some of her grandson's _many_ letters over the past few years in there too, just to show that Bilbo Baggins _was not dead_, thank you very much!

So Bag End remained empty, despite the hopes of Otho and his new wife. They had even tried to argue in the last couple of years that Bilbo was of age now and it was scandalous that he wasn't here to take up his duties as the head of the Baggins family. But that wouldn't have gotten them Bag End and Fosco Baggins had been successfully taking up the duties of that role for years now so that didn't go anywhere either.

Public opinion of Bilbo had changed over the years. The idea that knacks could be stolen really was idiocy when a lot of hobbits actually took the time to _think_ about it. Bilbo had been somewhat mischievous of course, but all faunts were a little troublesome and Bilbo had still been a good lad. He had been given a wonder of a knack and that hadn't been his fault. He'd been polite and pleasant and had worked hard to do well by his parents.

Not to mention all the things he'd done during the Fell Winter. A good many parents had realized that without Bilbo risking his life to deliver food to their families, their children would have been even hungrier than they'd been. The underage hobbit had risked his life distracting the wolves too and lost his parents for it.

And all they'd done was drive an orphaned, underage hobbit out of the Shire for no good reason, a great many Hobbiton hobbits commented while smoking a pipe and shaking their heads in shame. The young hobbit would be of age now, they pondered, and if he ever came home then this time they'd do better by him.

All in all, life goes on in the Shire. It had been going on for a decade since the Fell Winter and things were back to how they should be even if there wasn't a Baggins at Bag End... peaceful and unchanging.

Then, the spring after the tenth winter... Bilbo Baggins came back.

* * *

It had probably taken less than twelve hours after the first hobbit had noticed there were lights on in Bag End again and smoke coming out the chimney once more for every hobbit around The Hill to over The Water to hear the news that Bilbo Baggins was back.

And every hobbit with a single gossipy bone – no matter how small – in their body, which was every hobbit in the entire Shire pretty much, wanted to know _everything_. Curiosity probably came to hobbits about as naturally as eating, and every gossip worth their salt wanted to be the first to know and tell the Shire where Bilbo had been, what he'd been doing, and why he was back. And everybody else wanted to hear it.

Of course, Bilbo Baggins was only _just_ back. They had to be giving the young hobbit – my, he was several years over his coming of age now, how time flew – some time to be putting Bag End back together again. He'd be needing some space to unpack and settle in, and _no matter how curious they were_, it would be a terribly improper thing to try and finagle invitations to tea and lunch before the returning hobbit had time to breathe.

In the end, the nosy hobbits of Hobbiton lasted about two weeks. Then there might as well have been a line outside Bag End's green door where the next bunch of hobbits entered as soon as the others had left.

Bilbo Baggins had always been a good source of fascination and gossip, with his amazing Unnoticeable knack. But a young, orphaned, bachelor, extremely-well-to-do gentle-hobbit and landowner, who'd just returned from ten years of living with elves after a terrible tragedy that had forced him from his home? It _really_ didn't get any better than that.

* * *

It couldn't get worse than this... could it?

He was pretty sure he spent most of his time now either sighing in frustration or sighing in exasperation. All because he'd spent the past bloody two weeks entertaining _half the bloody Shire. _

The smoke rising from Bag End's chimney again must have been some signal that shouted to the entire neighbourhood that, 'Bilbo Baggins was home and he's inviting you all over for tea, lunch, or whatever meal you care to interrupt so you can shove your noses into his business and make conversation on things that happened ten bloody years ago and everything that's happened to him since.'

He may have been homesick out of his mind for the past couple of years, but clearly he'd been generally out of his mind as well. How on all of Middle Earth had he forgotten how bloody _gossipy_ and _nosy_ hobbits could be? For all that his neighbours liked to cling to their responsibility, propriety, and respectability, Bilbo wasn't sure that any of them had heard of 'being respectful of other people's privacy'.

Wow, what a concept, that.

He wasn't _that_ interesting, was he? Surely they all had better things to do with their time than discuss every single detail about him and how much he'd changed over ten years? No wait, he must have been confusing this Hobbiton with some _other_ Hobbiton where hobbits minded their own business and _didn't _live off of rumours as much as they did their seven daily meals.

* * *

Well... he was taller. Somewhat tall for a hobbit actually, but not a unreasonable height for a hobbit, definitely acceptable. Bilbo was also quite the handsome hobbit now, he looked just like his father as a young hobbit. His red-gold curls were quite lovely.

Except he was far too skinny, most definitely far too thin, hobbits agreed, he had none of the fat around his middle that a healthy hobbit should have. Too much time around those lanky elves had clearly not been good for his appetite.

Though many hobbit lasses were happy to point out that despite his elf-like thinness, he still filled out his exotic elvish-looking shirts quite well all the same. Tooks had always said that a bit of travelling was good for building up some muscles, and Bilbo was much more fit and had more lean muscles now than your average gentle-hobbit.

Still too thin, though.

* * *

If he had to answer _one more _bloody question about his eating-habits or have _one more_ well-meaning busybody tell him he was going to starve to death unless he ate more...

Oh, _Yavanna_, why did the work on Bag End have to take so damn long?

Why had he come back again? What was it he had told Erestor, and the twins? Something about homesickness and responsibilities now that he was overage? Some sort of halfhearted, half-true cover up for his unshakeable homesickness, anyway. Glorfindel had snorted, actually and honestly _snorted_, as though he'd said something hilarious when he'd argued that he had duties back in the Shire as the last Baggins of Bag End.

Rubbish, all of it, and they'd _known _it, except maybe Lindir, but Lord Elrond had almost certainly known. They should have dragged him back by his shirt collar.

Bilbo just hopes that his neighbours don't find out he's only eating three meals a day. The reaction would be... bad.

* * *

Despite all the hobbits who still disliked, feared, and resented him, Bilbo Baggins managed to be nothing but the perfect picture of respectability and courteousness. His manners were impeccable, and he stayed in a state of constant bemusement and tolerance all the time now.

If some hobbit made the wrong comment about the elves or his parents, he'd cheerfully ask them to leave. But if they insulted him or his knack, he'd only laugh it off and send them on their way fast enough. (And use some rather colourful language in regards to his verbal attacker whatever the topic after they'd left, but no one had to know about that.)

His sense of humour was now a little odd and slightly bold, but overall he was a shining example of the Shire gentry. Bag End was a lovely, well-kept home again. His tea and the meals he served were nothing but the best, and he was a wonderful host. He told vague stories of his time with the elves and deflected most personal questions with clumsy charm and blushing that hobbits attributed to his youth.

There were quite a lot of very personal questions. Well, there were quite a lot of questions in general, since hobbits had had ten years time to think about the strange and mysterious Bilbo Baggins with his incredible knack, tragic past, and adventures with elves.

It was probably a symptom of living somewhere where nothing exciting or interesting ever happens and never leaving, that hobbits seemed to have a desperate need to poke their noses into and give advice where it wasn't wanted.

Bilbo certainly mulled over the theory several times in the little over a month that he had been back in the Shire. All the curious, gossipy hobbits bombarded him with questions whenever he dared to venture outside of Bag End or couldn't avoid inviting them in for tea.

Thankfully, the most common questions weren't too bad. Once the residents of the Shire had realized that Bilbo wasn't going to be very forthcoming on his time with the elves – merely stating that he'd mostly spent time reading, the elves had been very kind, and Rivendell had been beautiful – they'd kept most of their questions to Shire business.

* * *

_When would he be taking up the unofficial position of Hobbiton mediator?_

Erm... Whenever hobbits came to him asking for help, he supposed.

_What were his plans for his tenants now that there was a Baggins back on top of The Hill?_

None as of yet... He'd like to see what his grandparents and Fosco had been doing before he set any plans in motion. Things seemed to be working out just fine. He'd only been back for a month, after all.

_Ready to take back his position as head of the Baggins family from Fosco now, eh?_

Fosco seemed to be doing just fine and happy to keep the position for now. Right now, he was still settling in.

_How was that knack of his doing?_

Very well, uh, thank you. Much more under control than it had been in his youth.

_Did he know that Otho Sackville-Baggins had tried to get Old Took to hand over Bag End?_

Yes, his grandda had told him in a letter. Very... angrily.

_What did he think of Otho's new wife?_

Otho managed to get a hobbit to marry him?

_Lobelia Bracegirdle._

...

Sorry, who?

_Never mind_.

Okay.

_Speaking of marriage, when would he be settling down with a nice hobbit lass?_

He'd only been back for a_ month_.

It probably said something important about him that he'd actually _missed_ the nosiness a bit.

* * *

Bilbo stood outside, risking himself to being interrogated by curious hobbits (although that had died down a bit now, he was still a celebrity and a curiosity), in what had used to be Bag End's garden. He was thinking.

So far he'd managed to make a home out of Bag End again after three months, but he hadn't made much of an effort to try and make his garden look anything like a garden again. Bilbo wasn't sure he was willing to put in the effort that was required to make a garden look good, especially since he had an abundance of other responsibilities that would eat up a lot of his time.

He has a lot of responsibilities as the owner of more property than he knew what to do with, and he's realizing now just how much work his father did and that Bilbo left to his grandparents so he could go carefree to Rivendell. However, neither Gerontius nor Adamanta would listen to his apologies on the subject despite how many responsibilities he knows they both have for themselves.

Bilbo also had responsibilities as the unofficial Hobbiton mediator which would be hitting him full force whenever the residents of the Shire deemed he had proven himself respectable.

There was also, of course, the assortment of responsibilities that would come with being the Baggins family head. But most of his Baggins relatives still seem to despise or severely dislike him, as well as the idea of him in any position of authority over them. (He's too young, he ran away with _elves_, he's got that strange knack that he hasn't used at all since he's been back but he still has it.) But he doesn't think they'll be deeming him acceptably respectable and responsible for the position any time soon and he really doesn't feel like being around his relatives any more than is strictly necessary.

He and the pretence that he isn't home have become greatly acquainted due to his influx of visitors, but especially so after learning exactly who Lobelia Sackville-Baggins born Bracegirdle is firsthand. If Fosco was happy enough to be left to deal with them, then Bilbo was more than happy enough to let him.

However, between avoiding the Sackville-Bagginses, regular Bagginses, and overly curious and nosy hobbits, it had been rather difficult to find a full-time gardener. He didn't want to spend what little free time he had trying to tackle the mess that was a garden nobody had so much as touched in _ten years_.

What to do... what to do...

"_Bilbo Baggins!_ Stop your daydreaming and come greet your guests!" A voice shouted, causing Bilbo to jump slightly in surprise.

The voice of the shouter had been so like his grandmother's at her most fearsome that Bilbo had straightened his posture and turned around immediately before he'd realized he'd moved. He blinked at the two hobbits standing outside his front gate. One was an unfamiliar and severely embarrassed-looking hobbit probably somewhere around his own age give a decade or so, and the other was a crotchety-looking old woman who was glaring sternly at him.

"Hop to, young Baggins," the old hobbit woman stated imperiously, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "I'm old and shouldn't have to wait at the gate like this."

Bilbo grinned. His mind flashing back to the worst day of his life before it had become the worst day of his life, recalling a memory of helping an old woman through the snow who'd been blunt in her statements and kind as few had been back then.

"Yes, ma'am," he said obediently, "Good morning, Mistress Gamgee. It's been a long time."

She harrumphed as Bilbo opened his front gate to let her and the nervous young hobbit through, hobbling past him with a regally disapproving sniff. Her companion offered Bilbo an apologetic glance as Bilbo closed the gate behind them both.

"Well?" The elderly hobbit demanded without looking over her shoulder at the young men behind her, making straight for Bag End's green door. "Am I good enough for the gentle-hobbit who owns half The Hill and Hobbiton to invite into tea, or am I going to be left waiting on the doorstep like some Sackville-Baggins?"

Bilbo nimbly leaped past Mistress Gamgee and her companion to open the door and usher them both inside. "Mistress Gamgee, I would never dream of not asking you to grace my home with your presence," he says politely, "And I'd also like to mention that it really is a terrible misfortune that my cousin and his wife always seem to visit whenever I'm not home. I have no idea why that is, it's an awful coincidence."

She cackles wickedly as Bilbo closed the door behind them all. "It's a very repetitive coincidence too. Those Sackville-Bagginses must have terrible luck."

"Quite," Bilbo agrees cheerfully. "This way to the parlour. I'll go put the kettle on."

A few minutes later, he re-enters the parlour with a tray of scones and sets them down. Then takes a seat in his favourite chair and introduces himself to the unfamiliar hobbit accompanying Mistress Gamgee as she helps herself.

"Bilbo Baggins, at your service."

The young hobbit smiles nervously. "Hamfast Gamgee, at yours," he says weakly.

"Hamfast, here, is my grandson," Mistress Gamgee declares. "And he's got more green in his thumb than most hobbits have in their entire body. He's been working under Holman Greenhand for awhile now, and could use a job."

"Gran," Hamfast protests.

"Shush. Knows his way around fixing things up, too. He's going to be your new gardener."

Bilbo stares silently at her, then at his apparent new gardener, who is looking as though he'd like to become Unnoticeable and stay that way for the rest of his miserable life.

Bilbo shrugs. "Okay," he says.

* * *

By the end of the summer, things had more or less smoothed themselves out into the regular unchanging rhythm of the Shire. Bilbo Baggins was still a celebrity and a curiosity, but he'd proved that he could be a perfect gentle-hobbit and host, and that he managed his properties quite well. No one had seen him use his knack yet, Bag End and it's garden were looking wonderful, and despite the occasional strangeness, he didn't seem to be doing anything too... audacious. He did something a little surprising now and again, but nothing shockingly unexpected.

Bilbo had set up targets in a field near his home and occasionally practised shooting with a bow and arrow, saying that he didn't want to lose the skill. And despite that this wasn't a common hobbit thing to do, it wasn't entirely unexpected considering he'd run off with elves. Nobody could say much about it since the bounders used bows as much as they used slingshots, and Belladonna had done a bit of shooting in her day.

It felt good to use his muscles to draw the bow back, feeling the power down to his toes, and release the arrow and send it flying into the intended target. The bow had been a gift from Elladan and Elrohir, and brought up happy memories of his years spent in Rivendell with the twins. While Bilbo would never have the fluidity or skill that the brothers had shown while teaching him, he was still quite good and quite proud of himself.

His skills also impressed the audience that he gathered every time he practised. The newest generation of fauntlings had come in their pack to watch him shoot with awestruck fascination and begged to for him to let them watch and teach them with great enthusiasm.

Since they'd watch whether or not he said they could, Bilbo agreed so long as they stayed on the opposite side of him from the targets. But he'd drawn the line at teaching anyone until they were older. He liked children, they liked his stories, had open minds, and weren't nearly so judgemental as their parents, but he wasn't handing any fauntling a weapon able to shoot sharp and deadly things before he was completely sure they wouldn't accidentally shoot off their own toes or point it at somebody else. Besides, they could all learn from a bounder if their keenness lasted more than a month.

Bilbo drew the arrow back, aimed, and shot, firmly hitting the centre of the target and hiding a grin at the hushed but impressed sounds of awe coming from behind him.

Next to him, a voice said, "Nice shot, Mister Baggins, sir."

"Thank you," Bilbo said, turning to see Hamfast standing next to him and smiled.

Hamfast was an absolute blessing. The man had managed to turn Bag End's garden into something nice to enjoy instead of painful to look at. He'd also proven to be an excellent friend, despite his former shyness and his refusal to address Bilbo by his first name. Hamfast was unflappable and dependable, turning nosy hobbits away when he could, and accepting any of Bilbo's strangeness quickly and without hesitation.

Hamfast's wife, Bell, was also a blessing. She was a wonderful woman who'd decided that Bilbo was also wonderful and all rumours against him were absolute rubbish because 'Mister Baggins' (he was unable to get her to call him anything but) was far too nice and Lobelia was a shrew anyway.

Their children were also delightful faunts, as friendly, open-minded, and wonderful as their parents. Bilbo was fairly certain at least one of them was in the small crowd watching him shoot.

"You've gathered a crowd, Mister Baggins, sir," Hamfast says.

"Call me Bilbo, Hamfast. And yes, I can't seem to be rid of them no matter how much I try. They simply won't go away," Bilbo remarks loudly, winking at Hamfast when a few of them cry out in protest or dismay. One of whom he identifies as his most steadfast archery fanatic, little Oleandra Millwater, and another as Hamfast's son, Hamson.

Hamfast grins. "Don't seem a good idea to be shooting a bow around fauntlings, though."

"And that is why they are over _there_ while the targets are over _there,_ on complete opposite sides of me," Bilbo explains. "I've been having this conversation with more than one worried mother convinced I've been putting apples on their children's heads for target practice."

"You'd never do somethin' like that, Mister Baggins, sir," Hamfast protests.

Bilbo shrugs, pulling another arrow out of the quiver by his feet. "You never know," Bilbo says, "Half the Shire has been thinking I'm evil for most of my life. For all the poor and unsuspecting residents of Hobbiton know, I'm simply biding my time before I prove it."

Hamfast silently watches Bilbo let another arrow fly, the arrow embedding itself near the centre of another target. A few fauntlings make disappointed sounds.

"They have high expectations of me," Bilbo tells Hamfast with a smile. "Like their parents, but without the evilness. Or maybe they just consider evilness to just be a lot more exciting. It's a nice difference."

Hamfast shakes his head slowly. "They don't think you're evil anymore, Mister Baggins, sir, excepting a few who wouldn't change their minds if you saved a bundle of drowning kittens or somethin'. They call you M..." Hamfast trails off.

"Call me what, Hamfast?" Bilbo asks curiously, notching another arrow. "You can tell me. It's really not like I haven't heard or been called worse and I know you're not calling me anything bad. You'd be doing me a favour by telling me, actually."

His gardener looks horrified at the idea that he would do anything but address his employer with anything but the utmost respect. Bilbo smiles faintly, letting a third arrow fly. The Gamgees were incredibly loyal, and Hamfast couldn't address him by anything except 'Mister Baggins, sir'. If Hamfast called him something insulting, he'd hand Bag End over to Otho.

"They call you, erm... 'Mad Baggins'," Hamfast mumbles, "They definitely aren't thinkin' you're evil anymore... just... erm, mad, y'see."

Bilbo laughs.

"I'll probably get tired of the title eventually," he tells Hamfast after he finishes chuckling, "But I probably deserve it, shooting a bow and running away with elves. It's better than being called the spawn of Mordor or a knack-stealing ingrate. I can't imagine what they'll say when I decide to go take a swim."

"Swim?" Hamfast echoes, horrified.

"It's quite fun and quite useful to know. Did you come here for something, Hamfast?" Bilbo asks, drawing another arrow from the quiver and deciding it'll be his last for today.

"Oh, erm... Bell'd like to have you over for supper tomorrow. She says Bag End's too big for a hobbit on his lonesome, and the kids'd like to hear a few more tales too."

Bilbo releases the last arrow, then turns to smile warmly at Hamfast, ignoring the ache that reminds him just how empty his home feels sometimes. Bell Goodchild-Gamgee was a smart and far too observant woman.

"That would be lovely, Hamfast, I'd love to. When should I be there and what should I bring?"

Hamfast nods. "Six'd be good," he says, "and Bell said to bring nothing but yourself and not worry about anything else, Mister Baggins, sir."

"Then myself, I shall bring," Bilbo responded happily. "Is that everything?"

"Seems so."

"Farewell, Hamfast."

"Farewell, Mister Baggins, sir."

Hamfast turned to leave.

"Oh, Hamfast?"

"Yes, Mister Baggins, sir?"

"Don't be... surprised if Bag End becomes... _difficult_ to find one of these days," Bilbo says lamely.

Hamfast, to his credit, doesn't even blink. "Yes, Mister Baggins, sir," he replies cheerfully, despite the confusion Bilbo knows his gardener and friend must be feeling, and walks out of the field without saying anything else.

Bilbo watches him go fondly, glad to have the Gamgees and their incessant loyalty despite his strangeness and his 'madness'. A few more people could do with friends like that in their lives, he supposes silently.

"Now," 'Mad Baggins' says loudly, "Whoever is going to help me collect my arrows? I cannot possibly do it all on my own."

* * *

Despite Bilbo's amiable manner, arguable respectability, and new reputation in the Shire as being mad but not evil, there were still a few hobbits who refused to believe anyone who had his knack could be anything but evil. They were cold to him, but not outright cruel, as the memory of just how fearsome Bilbo's knack was had been lost over the past decade without his constant presence to reinforce it. And Bilbo's lack of using his knack now didn't help anyone remember why exactly he'd been so feared and hated, since by now all of his exploits had faded into nothing but amusing anecdotes and stories.

A good majority of his Baggins relatives were still determined to disapprove of him, which was disappointing but he could live with that. Fosco was doing a wonderful job as head of the Baggins family and Bilbo didn't really want to give any of his relatives a way to find more reasons to hate him by trying to assert himself in a position of authority above them.

While some small part of Bilbo worried he was disrespecting his father's memory or avoiding his responsibility as his father's heir, a much larger part of him rationalized things by reminding him that his father would have loved him no matter what. Also, his father had gotten most of his Unnoticeable knack skill by hiding by aforementioned Baggins relatives, so he wouldn't have been able to say anything to Bilbo for avoiding Otho and Lobelia without being hypocritical. In all honesty, his father probably would have hidden under the bed alongside him.

(Yes, Bilbo has hidden under the bed and no, it's not his proudest moment. But he'd like to have anyone who tried to make fun of him for it spend three hours with Lobelia trying to simultaneously make polite conversation while she informed him of the many reasons she'd compiled of why Bilbo deserved nothing he had and why she and Otho should have everything Bilbo owned _while_ keeping her from stealing everything that wasn't nailed down _without _having a mental breakdown. Bilbo is pretty sure he deserves a _medal_.)

So, he's still treated with disdain and has to deal with the occasional snide remark, but he doesn't care much.

He has letters from his friends in Rivendell, asking him how he's doing and telling him about everything that's happened since he's left and how much they miss him. He replies to every one and receives many letters from the twins that switch between them every other paragraph, all about their exploits in wiping orcs off the face of the planet and annoying their father in some asinine contest against their friend Legolas that's been going on for the past fifty years at least about who can be the first to drive their father off the deep end. Amongst the ones from his other elvish friends, of course.

He has Hamfast and Bell and the rest of the incredibly loyal Gamgees as his friends. Including little Samwise who wants to hear everything that Bilbo can tell him about elves, and _has_ heard everything that Bilbo can tell him about elves _at least five times_. No matter how much Bilbo loves children, it's driving him a bit loopy, and he's fairly certain the mob that watches him practise archery is only getting _bigger_ when he thinks about it.

He has all his Took family who welcomed him back with open arms and the biggest party since his Uncle Isembold's fiftieth birthday where nobody could remember half of what happened afterwards. And Bilbo finally made his peace with Fortinbras Brandybuck after they woke up the morning after the party in his aunt Mirabella's garden with young Primula and Rorimac poking them both with sticks.

People actually treat him nicely despite the fact he has to play 21 questions every time he goes to the market. They say good morning to him and bug him about his weight, he is far too thin for the happiness of many hobbit matrons, or a decision he'd made as the new Hobbiton mediator.

Not because they actually thought they could get him to change his mind, but Bilbo had quickly discovered, it was just that a lot of hobbits liked arguing for the sake of it. He had realized that this was maybe why his father had sometimes gotten a crazed glint in his eye and glanced at exits with desperate longing or just gone Unnoticeable when certain hobbits had seen him. It _really_ wasn't _normal_ to argue about who exactly owned a cow for _thirty years_.

He's back in the Shire again, back in Bag End, his project on which is nearly done, and his home and garden look _bloody fantastic_ and he'll happily stab anyone who says otherwise with one of the silver spoons Lobelia keeps trying to swipe.

Life was good, Bilbo mused, passing the Green Dragon – which he apparently _owned_ part of – waving to a few patrons who were there far too early in the day by any standards outside and _inside _the Shire.

Then he felt the faint ring of now all too familiar clang of a Notice bell, and turned around to see Lobelia Sackville-Baggins making her way towards him.

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins with a _very_ determined look at her face.

"Bollocks," he said, and began walking _much faster_.

* * *

Later, the rest of that particular incident involving Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and Bilbo Baggins, which also became hot gossip amongst the residents of the Shire, was told at the Green Dragon, where it had all started really. The four hobbits sitting at the table all had mugs of the best ale the pub had to offer, and Bilbo Baggins seemed to be hiding his face behind his mug.

To any listener, the conversation went like this...

"So, Mister Baggins, sir, just so's I can explain this to Bell after all these crazy rumours we've been hearing today... starting at the beginning, you...?"

"Spotted Lobelia coming at me with a determined look on her face."

"An' so you...?"

"Started walking _very briskly_."

"Pearl says you ran like you had an army of goblins behind you."

"Paladin Took, I don't know how you could even suggest such a thing. I _walked briskly_."

"Mister Baggins, sir, please ignore your cousin."

"Why are you even _here _anyway? Don't you have a wife and kids to get home to?"

"I'm being supportive to my cousin after a severely traumatizing experience."

"Did you hurt yourself with those long words?"

"Also... rubbish, you wanted to hear the gossip firsthand."

"Yes, I did. Keep talking. What happened next? After you started _walking briskly_?"

"Wait, Bilbo, why didn't you just become Unnoticeable?"

"...I've been using my knack for a project and it's been wearing it out a bit."

"What?"

"What _project_?"

"I don't want to talk about it. I have no idea if it'll work."

"Mister Baggins, sir, _what happened next_?"

"I couldn't shake her."

"And then, Mister Baggins, sir?"

"So I tried to lose her by swimming across a river."

"She chased you to a _river_?"

"Oh, keep talking, this is getting better by the second. No wonder you're looking so embarrassed!"

"Shut up, Fortinbras. Nobody asked you."

"How impolite! That's so rude, Bilbo, what would the gentle-hobbits say if they heard that tone? And saw that hand gesture too, wow, so rude."

"Mister Bilbo, sir, ignore your _cousins_. What happened next?"

"I swam across the river."

"And?"

"She started yelling at me from the other side."

"And?"

"She lost her balance and fell in."

"So you...?"

"Noticed the embarrassingly large crowd of witnesses who'd followed and decided that it would probably be morally wrong to let her drown."

"Are you _sure_ it would have been _completely _morally wrong?"

"Paladin!"

"What?"

"So you saved her?"

"...unfortunately."

"Did she thank you?"

"Well, she hit me and tried to accuse me of attempted murder."

"...That's almost a thank you for her."

"And you're being hailed as the 'Hero of Hobbiton' because you_ didn't _let Lobelia 'Sticky Fingers' Sackville-Baggins drown? Shouldn't it be the opposite?"

"Paladin!"

"What?"

"Well... that's the story. Can I drown my sorrows in ale in peace, now?"

"Sorrows because you were forced against you will to save Lobelia or...?"

"Paladin!"

"Seriously, _what_?"

"Well, Mister Baggins, sir. That seems to fit with the rumours I've been hearing."

"Really? The gossips must be losing their touch then."

"Oh no, you ran ten miles to get away and swam across a river half a mile wide..."

"Fortinbras, there's not even a river half a mile wide within ten miles."

"...and had to bring Lobelia back into the world of the living using-"

"Don't even say it."

"Fine."

"Well, cousin, at least no one will think you're evil now."

"Oh, why not?"

"Doesn't matter what kinda freaky knack you have, nobody evil wouldn't have not let Lobelia Sackville-Baggins drown if they had the opportunity. You saved her, so you're good. Too good for your own good, apparently."

"...Huh."

"But you _did_ save her, and also willingly went swimming."

"Okay?"

"So they still think you're mad."

"_Bloody hills_."

* * *

_A/N: I have nothing really to say here either. Chapter 12 **really **isn't going well. It's probably going to be at least ten thousand words and told in different parts. Argh. Somebody needs to sit me down and force me to write because in avoidance over the past two days, I've played and finished both Portal games again. Not good. Very not good.  
_

_Somebody come and write Chapter 12 for me. _


	7. Respectable Life of a Gentle-hobbit II

_Disclaimer: Has anyone been to actual Middle-Earth? Y'know, New Zealand? Is it true you have one ton Giant Eagles in one of your airports? And LOTR stuff on the side of your planes? And a giant Gollum statue in an airport? And that Hobbiton place is seriously real now? I'm not making fun. I'm actually really jealous. Lucky Kiwis. Man, you fruit-birds just took being Middle-Earth and ran with it._

_Also, I don't own anything and I don't profit from this at all. _

* * *

**Chapter Seven: The Respectable Life of a Gentle-hobbit Part II  
**

_The life of a respected and sort-of-respectable gentle-hobbit, Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, who is quite definitely entirely mad by most hobbit standards but also very heroic as well._

Time keep ticking by with the same fickle flounce as before, and late and hot summer melted into early and warm autumn. Autumn breezed into the early chill of winter, and the hobbits around The Hill kept a keen eye on Bilbo Baggins.

Nobody used their Unnoticeable knacks for much in the Shire, since there were few occasions when it was actually required for hobbit survival. Most hobbits used their knacks when they were young and rarely had the occasion to use them ever again. Bilbo had grown up, and hadn't yet used his knack again once to public knowledge.

He had also saved Lobelia Sackville-Baggins from drowning, which everyone was _really_ _grateful_ for. So it had been definitely determined that Bilbo Baggins was not evil, he was a mad swimming archer, but probably not evil. Knack-stealing had never actually been a real thing, after all.

But still, they watched him with concern to see how Bilbo reacted to the winter, his first winter back in the Shire since the Fell Winter itself. By their beliefs, the sight of a snowy Shire had to be bringing up terrible memories for Mister Baggins, reminding him of the death of his parents, and his decade-old grief. They watched the young Baggins heir with bated breath, as if Bilbo would break down in tears at the sight of a snowflake.

But Bilbo continued on as usual, the ever courteous and amiable gentle-hobbit. He exchanged Yuletide recipes with Bell Goodchild and her collection of friends, told the children stories of Midwinter in Rivendell, drank ale and laughed until the ale came back up with his Took and Brandybuck cousins.

He also continued excellently as the Hobbiton mediator even if he could not solve the thirty-year-old cow ownership dilemma, made for a wonderful land-owner and kept his tenants happy, and ignored the majority of his disdainful Baggins relatives or any other hateful hobbits with far too obvious glee.

If he kept his bow and arrows, along with a sharp elvish-looking dagger, on him or near him at all times. Well... that was really his own business. Winter was a stupid thing to be afraid of, since it would last at least three months of the year, and it wasn't like he hadn't seen snow in the past ten years. Bilbo was hardly going to faint because of a snowflake.

Which was good, because his project on Bag End was nearly done and he'd be getting the full use of his Unnoticeable knack back soon, and he had plans to dump an armful of snow down Paladin's neck. Nobody shrieked because of snow down their shirt collar like a Took, which was why the Tooks spent most of winter shoving snow down each other's backs.

Bilbo had no desire to be left out of the Yuletide tradition... at least the part where he got to dump snow on his cousin. His abilities to Notice other hobbits were still somewhat functional, functional enough to avoid whatever traps they set for him at east. No matter what his Uncle Isumbras said, it _wasn't_ cheating if they simply couldn't catch him unaware.

* * *

After Yule, in the privacy of his home after all the festivities for the day were over, a snow-covered Bilbo (whose cousins had finally given up on being sneaky and just ambushed him in plain sight, fifteen to one) retreated into his home and hung the sign Elrohir had made all those signs ago that had been recently dug out of a box in storage on the gate.

Then he told Hamfast he wouldn't be around for the foreseeable few days and no one should worry. He had some Remembering to do, that was all. Hamfast had nodded with understanding and let it be known that Bilbo Baggins was doing a bit of grieving for his parents and didn't want to be disturbed.

As it would be in _extremely_ bad taste that not even Sackville-Bagginses would dare to interrupt someone of Bilbo's past and station while mourning, Bilbo got his wish to be left alone.

Bilbo spent three lovely days going through old things and remembering every memory that went with them, remembering his parents, writing in his study, or just relaxing in his dining room with the full tea set gleaming brightly on the table before him containing nothing but water. The smell and feeling of warm water flooding through him from his teacup.

It hadn't rained any large summer storms this year, which was disappointing, and the winter sun didn't catch the gleam of the teacup rims exactly right, but it was still nice.

* * *

Time flounced by.

Cold, bitter winter became early, cool, and muddy spring. Early spring glowed into warm-ish spring, and colours started blooming through the mud. Then spring brought wet showers and lovely flowers, that gave way for warm summer again.

Bilbo's letters to Rivendell told a tale of Bag End being a home again, the garden looking lovely, most of the Shire thinking he was mad, and the rest of the Shire thinking he was mad too but liking him anyway. Tales that told of his escapes from whatever Sackville-Bagginses were, and his relatives trying to determine whether or not his madness could be proven enough to keep him from inheriting the title of head of the Baggins that his cousin _still_ held.

Rivendell had been wonderful, but it had also been too elvish for a young hobbit. Elladan and Elrohir had been great friends, and they loved him as well as an unofficial sibling. But although the near-immortal beings could make the young and ageing hobbit an elf-friend, but they could not make him an elf. Rivendell had not been home.

Even if he could walk through a crowd in the Shire while Unnoticeable and not hear the toll of a single Notice bell, the Shire was better. Despite the way Bilbo knew he _was_ loved by his cousins and his grandparents, it was not the same love that he'd lost.

His parents had been closer to him than anyone, they had loved him and _known _him, not as 'Bilbo Baggins the strange and amazing cousin' or 'the mad, mysterious gentle-hobbit, Bilbo Baggins' or 'Bilbo, our odd and slightly aloof grandson' or 'our fantastic employer, Mister Baggins, sir' but just... Bilbo.

The Shire didn't feel much like home either on some days, few and far between, but it was enough on most.

* * *

It was this second summer, a year and a few months after Bilbo had returned to the Shire, that had made him realize he would never really be seen as 'just Bilbo' in the Shire. He was a celebrity, a curiosity, and a hero twice over now. His chances of being viewed as a regular person had been bad before but now they had delved into the negative numbers.

The realization had come after the incident that made Bilbo a 'hero twice over', which some argued was thrice over if you counted Bilbo's efforts during the Fell Winter alongside his rescuing of an ungrateful Lobelia and this newest incident.

It started on a stormy day in late July, there was no wind but _plenty_ of heavy, soaking rain, and loud crashes of thunder following flashes of lighting that lit up the sky. One of Bilbo's favourite kind of days really, where he could sit by a window and watch the soothing, to him, rainfall.

It started when Hamfast Gamgee, miserably drenched and horribly panicked, came running down Bagshot row. When the self-proclaimed expert on potatoes _leaped_ Bag End's fence and banged on the green door as hard as he could.

It also started when Bilbo Baggins opened the door with a bewildered expression on his face, and Hamfast Gamgee launched into a babbling and terrified explanation without even stepping out of the rain. When Bilbo's bewildered face became paler and paler, before the gentle-hobbit rushed back into his smial to grab his grey elvish cloak, bow, dagger, and quiver full of arrows.

It finally started when Bilbo came stumbling outside of Bag End, ignoring the heavy beat of the summer rain for the first time in his life, and sprinted after an already running Hamfast without even remembering to close his green door. His grey cloak flapping behind him, dagger at his hip, quiver over his back, and bow in hand.

It was something so horrible that the wolves of the Fell Winter were a distant memory of a long ago terror, a terror that could not be remembered in the face of this new threat. Hamfast had barely heard the news before he'd gone running for the one hobbit who he believed could do anything, not willing to wait for the bounders or the Rangers.

_Child snatchers_.

* * *

The men already had managed to capture half a dozen fauntlings using darts that had caught the children unaware, and seemed to be overly wary of being watched. Young teenage Primula had managed not to be caught. She'd followed the men back to their hiding place, before running back home to tell her parents, who'd told everyone, and Hamfast had heard and gone running for Bilbo.

Hamfast pointed Bilbo towards the direction that the child snatchers had gone, telling him exactly where the men, _big folk_, were camped out. Hamfast promised to wait for Bilbo as Bilbo told his friend and gardener to stay behind as went to go have a look and decided what to do.

What, precisely, happened next, Bilbo kept to himself.

Bilbo found their campsite easily enough, and observed the five men, small number really, move about unseen and Unnoticed. The men were wary, as they should be around beings that could move around Unnoticed, but they were not wary enough or observant enough to Notice Bilbo. They also, didn't have knacks, and had never so much as _heard_ of Bilbo Baggins.

The men _knew_ about hobbits and their Unnoticeable knack, Bilbo learned, their leader having witnessed a few hobbits use their knacks several times over the years in Bree. Although he didn't know what it was, he _wanted_ the profit he knew could potentially be made.

Children were easy to snatch and easy to mold, according to those who made their business selling others. And telling anyone of the weak and vulnerable halflings who couldn't fight back and their disappearing gift early would bring in competition, which was why there was only five of them.

It was disgusting to listen to, and from a comfortable perch in a tree, Bilbo saw the terrified fauntlings in _cages_. It was then, he supposed, that he, the 'respectable gentle-hobbit', lost any resolve against doing what he was about to do.

It was horribly simple for Bilbo to draw out one of the men, by making a sound off in the trees and their leader ordering one of them to investigate. It was terribly hard for Bilbo to draw back his bow, standing Unnoticeable in front of the searching man where his companions could not see him, but it was exceedingly easy for him to let the arrow fly, as though the large man was no more than one of his practise targets.

The man fell to the muddy ground with an arrow in his eye.

Bilbo slit the man's throat with his dagger like Elladan had taught him to do to orcs, should he ever face one, to ensure the monster was dead, and removed his arrow. This man was not an orc, but he was certainly a monster. The twins, he knew, would approve. They hated those who committed acts against children nearly as much as they hated orcs, and Elladan and Elrohir _despised_ orcs.

It did not take long for the leader to grow anxious and send two more men to go looking for their fellow. Nor did it take Bilbo long to leave them the same way as their companion before them. Though it was trickier with two and the second man managed to give a cry of alarm before Bilbo's knife silenced him.

Oddly, Bilbo did not ponder the fact that he'd just taken the lives of three people. Instead he wondered if this was why, exactly, many residents of the Shire were still slightly fearful and unnerved by his knack and preferred to pretend he did not have it. It was disturbingly easy to kill a man when he could not see you, nor hear you, or Notice you at all.

There was only a single case in the entire history of the Shire of a hobbit murdering another hobbit, and the victim had not been able to do anything to stop his Unnoticeable attacker. When Bilbo thought more deeply about it, having this incident as a firsthand reference, it was a lot easier to understand why his knack could be terrifying.

He had already proved how good a killer an Unnoticeable hobbit could make about eleven years ago during the Fell Winter... but he wasn't going to dwell on that now. He hadn't told anybody the truth of what had happened that day, anyway.

What Bilbo was having trouble understanding, as he walked Unnoticeable through the rain into the men's campsite and notched an arrow, was why you would be cruel and generally awful to someone who could literally kill you without any consequences if they wanted to. He trained the arrow on the now shaken and terrified fourth man, standing back to back with the leader with his sword drawn and unable to Notice Bilbo more or less straight ahead of him.

Provoking someone like that really didn't scream of having much common sense, if you asked Bilbo.

But nobody asked him, so he let the arrow fly and the fourth man fell with a heavy thud and an arrow in his throat that had appeared from nowhere. A few seconds later, the panicked and screaming leader of the child snatchers joined the fourth man dead on the ground.

Bilbo retrieved the keys to the cages from the leader. Then he promptly fell to his knees and threw up, and didn't stop until his stomach felt completely empty, his body ached with the violence of the action, and his head ached with pain.

But he still had things to do, he could not curl up in the rain and let himself feel awful and pathetic and guilty and terrified of himself.

Bilbo released the frightened and semi-wet fauntlings from the cages the child snatchers had been keeping them in. He gathered them up, assuring them that everything was going to be fine and wiping away their tears with a drenched handkerchief, worried that he'd terrified them with what he'd just done and if they'd really be fine after what they just witnessed.

But then one of the victims, little Oleandra Millwater, who hadn't missed a single one of his archery practise sessions and demanded that he teach her all he could without actually handing her the bow, had tapped him on the arm to offer him two of his arrows. He looked down into her soaking wet, pale, and determined face as she held out two arrows covered in blood that could not have been retrieved from anywhere but from the two men he'd just killed, and was reminded of the amazing strength of stubborn fauntlings.

Everything was going to be okay somehow, he decided, as he thanked Oleandra for the arrows with a kind smile and told her to next time leave it to him.

And then the awful incident was more or less over.

It ended when Bilbo met Hamfast exactly where his gardener had said he'd wait, and the two of them rushed the fauntlings to the nearest smial to get them all out of the rain.

It ended when hobbit mothers and fathers rushed to the smial where their children were being warmed up, any inconvenient expenses to the family that lived there being paid by Bilbo Baggins himself. When sobbing parents clutched their crying faunts, and grasped Bilbo's wet hands as though they were some kind of lifeline, thanking Bilbo for giving them back their entire worlds and Bilbo told them that it was nothing, the least he could do.

It ended when the Baggins gentle-hobbit of Bag End saw that all the fauntlings had been returned into the care of their parents or guardians. When Bilbo bid them all a kind farewell and stepped back outside into the rain to walk to the green door that he'd left wide open in his haste.

But it really ended when Bilbo Baggins, Hamfast Gamgee, and a handful of bounders returned to where the child snatcher campsite had been the next day with shovels. Even though nobody deigned mentioned that bit of the story when they were telling the story of the heroic, mysterious, Mad Bilbo Baggins.

* * *

Time flounced by.

Hot summer dripped into autumn again, the leaves turning orange and red and the weather hopping back and forth from lovely warmth to windy chill.

"Fosco... that's really, _really_... erm... nice of you, but it's _really_ not necessary," Bilbo told his cousin over tea one day. "You're doing a _wonderful _job as head of the Baggins family. I couldn't possibly take it from you."

Fosco made a sound that dismissed everything Bilbo had just said. "Nonsense," Fosco says, "I only held only the position because the rest of the family was convinced you were far too young to be the head of the Baggins family."

"I _really_ am," Bilbo insists.

"You're of age," Fosco dismisses, "by more than enough years. You might've gone running off with elves, but you're back now and you've proven you're a responsible and respectable lad. It's high time that you took your father's position as head of the family."

Bilbo takes a sip of tea, looking slightly desperate. "But you're doing such a _wonderful_ job," he repeats. "Dealing with Otho and Lobelia and... such... erm... I _really_ don't-"

"I have children to raise, Bilbo," Fosco remarks obliviously, "It's going to be hard work keeping my Drogo from running off with little Primula Brandybuck before he's of age to do things proper. And _you _have to do your part as the proper heir."

"But-"

"Bilbo, I only got this title tossed on me after your father died because the next in line after you was also underage," Fosco deadpans, entirely serious now.

"Yes, but-"

"And it's Otho."

"Oh," Bilbo realizes lamely.

"Exactly," Fosco says, as he takes a sip of tea, which Bilbo is fairly certain contains a liberal amount of his grandfather's best whiskey. "We all have a duty to do. The family wants you to step up and do yours. And I wasn't entirely joking about keeping Drogo from trying to run off with the lass, you know."

Bilbo sighs. "Is there _anyone_ else?"

"No."

"And the family _wants this_?"

"Absolutely."

"This is a case of the lesser of two evils for the family, isn't it?"

"...Possibly."

* * *

Time flounced by.

Elladan and Elrohir come to stay that winter.

They listen to Bilbo retell what had happened with the child snatchers face and face and assure the young hobbit that he'd done well. Bilbo could have done other things, yes, but there was no telling that the child snatchers wouldn't have run off and told others about Hobbits and their Unnoticeable knacks if they'd lived.

That winter is a nice recall to his years in Rivendell. He missed the Shire a lot, but his missed his elf friends as well, and he wouldn't trade his time in Rivendell or this winter with the twins again for anything.

When spring comes, Bilbo bids a bittersweet goodbye to his elven friends, who are off to Greenwood with Glorfindel for a diplomatic journey.

Bilbo knows the twins can be serious and stately if needed, but sending Glorfindel on a diplomatic anything seems like a bad idea. Slay a balrog, become a legend, and suddenly you become a sarcastic bastard with the worst sense of humour ever, and your life motto is suddenly, 'Hey, why not?'

Between the twins, Glorfindel, and their stories about what some of the Greenwood elves got up to, Bilbo had most of his beliefs of the elves as nothing but a dignified and regal race destroyed with a _vengeance_ during his stay at Rivendell. Apparently immortality gets boring, and when elves get bored, things _happen_.

There's also the fact that Glorfindel and the twins seem to dissolve into fauntlings whenever they're around each other. Lindir must be fraught with anxiety at the thought, and Erestor is probably holed up in his library referencing books on what to do in cause war breaks out between Imaldris and Greenwood. Lord Elrond must have been out of his mind or just _really_ needed his sons out of Rivendell so he _didn't_ go out of his mind.

So Bilbo reminds them not to burn the forest down as they leave, and Elladan only laughs and Elrohir says that the blond ponces would totally deserve it if they did.

Bilbo has no idea who they're talking about, but he waves them off cheerfully anyway.

* * *

Time flounced by.

By the third summer since Bilbo's return, Bilbo was the successful head of the Baggins family. Most of his relatives still didn't like him much, but he'd proven he could be good at the job and was a hero of the Shire. Bilbo spent a great many dinner parties sorting out the family affairs and being informed by Lobelia of why he should give up the job to Otho already. But not too cruelly or loudly at least, because he had saved her from drowning and it would reflect badly on her if she drove him to cutting off his own ears with his butter knife.

Little Oleandra Millwater had managed to bully a bounder into teaching her the basics on a bow, and seemed to be determined to be the best archer in the Shire to her mother's horror. Olive Millwater wanted to blame Bilbo for ruining her proper little lady, but she couldn't blame him when he'd used his archery skills to save her daughter from child snatchers, so that had led to some fairly awkward moments.

His tenants and various properties were doing well. Bilbo was doing a fairly good job as the unofficial Hobbiton mediator too, even if the thirty-plus-years-old cow dilemma seemed to be going strong in hopes of reaching forty. At this point, Bilbo was certain that it definitely wasn't the same cow that the argument had actually started with but that didn't seem to be stopping anybody or dimming anybody's enthusiasm.

Bilbo was being treated nicely by many, and being hailed as the 'Hero of Hobbiton' by some. So he ignored the little twinge in his chest when he realized that nobody really _knew_ him except a few of his friends he'd left behind in Rivendell, and too many hobbits had too skewed or an embellished idea of him to get to _know_ 'just Bilbo'.

His three closest friends with Fortinbras, Paladin, and Hamfast. But Fortinbras was more of a friendly acquaintance he did things with, Paladin was too Took-ish at times for Bilbo to relate to him seriously, and Hamfast had a bit of a hero-worship thing going on and _still_ refused to address Bilbo any way but formally.

He'd missed the Shire because Rivendell had been lovely but not the kind of home a small and mortal hobbit had needed, but Bilbo missed his elvish friends now because they had _known _him better than anyone since his parents even if they didn't exactly _love_ him the same way. Near-immortality gave you a better understanding of things and people, Bilbo supposed.

Bag End was a home again, but he wasn't entirely sure it was his anymore.

* * *

Time flounced by, this time, in years.

By the eighth year after Bilbo Baggins had returned from Rivendell, he was considered to be a fully respectable and responsible hobbit.

Bilbo had developed a reputation for being a bit strange, as many hobbits considered him mad to be consorting with elves and dwarves and such but no one wanted to say anything too bad of him since he was an upstanding gentle-hobbit and a hero. Bilbo Baggins took an interest in the world at large, they would finally say, showing those Took-ish adventurous tendencies a bit too much maybe.

But he was an upstanding gentle-hobbit. Just like his father, they said, since Bilbo was such a solid and sensible young man. He was as solid, sensible, dependable, and respectable as Bungo had been. Really, just like his father, hobbits agreed, ignoring the fact that Bungo had been as unadventurous as any hobbit could be and his son was very much not.

Shame Bilbo didn't seem to have an interest in settling down, but that was probably that Took-ishness adventurousness at work again. No offence to the Tooks, of course.

Most Bagginses had questions asked them mostly out of formality, because they were so predictable that you could guess what they said before they said it. Yet the only thing that could be expected about anything Bilbo said was that it would be courteous, polite, and slightly unexpected. But Any odd tendencies that would have lost Bilbo the respect of his neighbours were hushed up, because allowances had to be made for the 'Hero of Hobbiton'.

A very tall figure in a long grey cloak carrying a staff had heard a great deal of these rumours and opinions on Bilbo Baggins, and eventually came to believe that Bilbo was the ideal person for an important task he had at hand. Unfortunately, this big folk person came to this belief having formed a very incorrect picture of who Bilbo Baggins was exactly.

The tall figure heard that Bilbo was exactly like the solid and comfortable Bungo Baggins, but had an interest in the world outside the Shire that one could interpret as adventurous. He was also the son of Belladonna Took, one of the three remarkable daughters of the Old Took and one of the few hobbits to venture outside the Shire on 'adventures'.

Since this tall figure was... well, _tall_, they did not hear the things that the hobbits were careful not to speak of around big folk. The grey cloaked figure in the tall pointed hat heard nothing of the 'Hero of Hobbiton' or Unnoticeable knacks or child snatchers or the Fell Winter.

Nothing of being run out of the Shire for a great and fearsome knack. Because when big folk, no matter who they were, learned of hobbity knacks and being Unnoticeable, things like the child snatchers happened. Hobbits were _very_ secretive with their abilities and _very_ protective of their children.

And the tall figure certainly heard nothing of how Bag End could be notoriously difficult to find when the heroic Mad Bilbo Baggins wanted to be left alone. Because that was something not even the residents of the Shire could explain and they didn't wish to dwell on the strange and unique abilities of their 'Hero'.

For all the old man with his grey cloak believed, hobbits were small-sized, light on their feet, and their scent was unknown to dragons. So a sensible and dependable hobbit such as Bilbo Baggins who had had previous associations with elves and dwarves was definitely the ideal person for the very important task at hand.

Unfortunately, Bilbo Baggins was not around to be consulted on this, because at the time as he was visiting the Grey Havens for the Elven new year. He really should have been consulted, but the old man left the Shire after a single attempted visit and not many hobbits paid much attention save to watch what they said and did around someone so _tall_.

* * *

Time ceased the flouncing, and slowed to an inexplicable crawl.

Bilbo Baggins had returned to the Shire awhile ago only to be yelled at by a few of his Baggins relatives for leaving them to go to the Grey Havens, but since he'd left Fosco to take over his duties as head of the family, they couldn't say he'd abandoned them. They shut up fairly quickly once Bilbo suggested that next time he should leave Otho in charge.

Well, all but Lobelia shut up, but he never made the suggestion to her lest anyone (she and Otho) actually take what he said seriously.

He had better things to do at the moment than listen to petty squabbles between the Baggins about what a second-rate job he did as head of the family or continue trying to mediate in now thirty-seven-year-old cow debate. Unless cows could change colours, Bilbo knew for a fact now that it wasn't the same cow they had started with.

Fosco Baggins's son and Bilbo's cousin Drogo actually _had_ fallen in dumb puppy love with Primula Brandybuck, and things were getting heated between the Bagginses and the Brandybucks over a relationship that really should have been _Drogo_ and _Primula's_ business. And everyone was expecting Bilbo to play mediator when he'd rather just sit back, drink tea, and let them have at each other so he didn't get caught in the crossfire.

So Bilbo was dressed in the best hobbity clothes he had, sitting on the bench in his front garden enjoying the bright morning sun, and wondering if a good smoke would help him face the fancy luncheon his aunt Mirabella had planned for today. A luncheon where he'd be expected to keep the peace so that nobody stabbed anybody with any cutlery and inadvertently or purposefully destroyed all chances of the lovebirds (Drogo and Primula) having their happily ever after.

His father had certainly enjoyed smoking from his long pipe to reduce stress, but Bilbo had been too young before the Fell Winter and elves didn't like smoking, so he'd never gotten into the habit. Shame, he would have loved to learn how to make smoke rings. His grandfather's Unnoticeable-ness felt like loopy rings of smoke being puffed from a pipe into the sky, and Bilbo was sure doing so would have been relaxing.

Today was going to be a _long_ day, but it was also, so far, a very nice one.

He was in a good mood and happy with the progress he'd made for his lovestruck cousins so far. The sun was shining and the grass was very green, and entire Shire seemed to be laid out in front of him, a home that wasn't quite. Bilbo closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the sunshine.

Then a very tall shadow loomed over the unsuspecting Bilbo.

Surprised, the still young but nearly middle-aged hobbit looked up at an enormous old man staring down at him, leaning on a long wooden staff and dressed in a long grey robe. He had a pointed hat with a wide rim, large bushy eyebrows, and piercingly sharp blue eyes.

And Bilbo did not recognize him at all.

* * *

_A/N: Okay, so I managed Chapter 12. But now I've got to do Chapter 13.  
_

_Next fic, I'm writing the whole damn thing BEFORE I start posting. _

_Also, cliffhangers huh? Gotta love 'em. _


	8. Good Morning! (Or Not)

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit or The LOTR, books or movies, or any of the places, characters, or ideas within them. I am receiving no profit from this and am doing this just for fun, but maybe I should go put flowers on Mister Tolkien's grave. I feel like I need to show my respects somehow for everything he's given us, and maybe also apologize just in case. _

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Good Morning! (Or not...)  
**

_In which many things happen and it is maybe not such a good morning after all._

"Good morning," Bilbo offered cheerfully to the stranger.

He was inwardly surprised to discover that he actually meant it, his good mood must really be soaring today considering how much he disliked visitors of an unexpected nature. Well… he meant it as much as any sensibly cautious hobbit could mean good will towards big, ominous, _looming_ old men, at least.

Bilbo smiled disarmingly at the stranger and mentally felt around for the soothing velvety softness of his knack, relieved to find it still there. If the old man didn't stop staring or bloody _looming_ like that (Bilbo was _in_ the stranger's _shadow_), then Bilbo would probably begin backing away slowly while hoping that the old man and his oversized stick didn't make any sudden moves.

The elderly man shifted, leaning more on his stick.

"What do you mean?" The stranger rumbled, with a mischievous twinkle to his eyes that Bilbo _did not_ like.

_I meant it as a common and polite greeting, _Bilbo thinks,_ but I don't think you've heard of such things since apparently nobody's ever told you that staring is rude._

The old figure in grey continued.

"Do you mean to _wish me_ a good morning, or do you mean that_ it is_ a good morning _whether_ I want it or not? Or, perhaps you mean to say that you _feel good_ on this particular morning. Or are you simply stating this is a morning to _be good_ on?"

_Also since it appears that your idea of a conversation starter is atrocious_, a snide part of Bilbo's mind supplies unhelpfully. The rest of Bilbo's mind, unfortunately, was a bit stalled.

Bilbo had lived the majority of his life in the Shire, as a Baggins of Bag End and the grandson of Old Took himself, and the rest of his small time on Middle Earth in Rivendell with elves. Hobbits took a deep sense of pride in their manners and politeness, from the Baggins to the Tooks. And while some elves were often cool or unfriendly, they were still courteous and graceful, and most others were friendly and welcoming while still maintaining an amiable courteousness and innate grace.

So to say that Bilbo was slightly taken aback by this sudden barrage of a reply to his greeting, which honestly seemed to be trying to start an argument more than anything else, hit it more or less directly on the head.

Bilbo realized he had his mouth open slightly, and the stranger just looked _amused. _It made Bilbo want to go get a footstool to properly tell the grizzled old coot that he wasn't half as witty as he thought he was.

"Well... all of them at once, I suppose," Bilbo said, feeling confused and mulish.

The stranger raises one of his bushy eyebrows at this response, apparently dubious of Bilbo's answer in a bemused sort of fashion.

Well, how in the bloody hills was that question _supposed_ to be answered in this mind? Because the real answer was that it had meant, 'Stop staring and introduce yourself or at least go away, you bearded old coot.'

Bilbo frowns slightly, and shifts where he sits. "Can I help you?" He asks bluntly, rather sick of being stared at so strangely already. He feels like this stranger _wants_ something from him, and very few people who _want_ things from him want things that he's willing to give.

"That remains to be seen," the old man says mysteriously.

_Well, that's comfortingly reassuring and _ _ **not** _ _ incredibly and suspiciously vague. _

The stranger's eyes twinkle slightly as the old man leans forward for his next words, which make Bilbo's heart lurch and his breath stop.

"I'm looking for someone to share in an _**adventure**_."

* * *

_He's twenty-five. _

_'Old enough to start demanding responsibility, but too young to handle most of it. Old enough to start demanding respect, but too young to get it. And just the right age to be stubborn and frustrated about it.'_

_It's one of his grandmother's favourite sayings, and she'd likely know the truth about it well enough considering her and Gerontius hold the record for having had the most faunts in Shire history. Adamanta Chubb-Took had raised twelve children and she knew nothing at all if she didn't know what she was talking about when it came to raising a young hobbit. _

_Belladonna Took and Bungo Baggins had only the one faunt, but they were quickly learning about the ferocious stubbornness of a teenage hobbit. Belladonna especially found herself having a new respect for his mother. Meanwhile Bilbo was learning a lesson in the frustration that came from being young and arguing with adults. _

"_But __**WHY**__?" Bilbo demands, refusing to let himself stamp his foot like he wants to, and oh, how he wants to stamp his feet and pull his hair out of pure frustration since his parents weren't listening to him. _

"_Why do __**we**__ have to go out and deliver food to them?" Bilbo continues, "It's not our problem that they-... erm..." Bilbo falters under the sudden, intense heated glare of both his parents, and he knows he's said the wrong thing. He knows what he said was wrong too, but clearly his parents have other feelings on Bilbo's knowledge and understanding of his own words. _

"_Bilbo Baggins," Belladonna grounds out angrily, "Do you __**want**__ to let your neighbours starve knowing you could have done something to stop it?"_

_Well, honestly, there are a few neighbours here and there that Bilbo wouldn't mind too much if he never had to see them again. He doesn't want any deaths on his conscience but if idiots were going to be idiots, no, bad thoughts, stop that. _

"_No, but-"_

"_Do you really__** believe **__that it's not our problem too if fauntlings start going cold and hungry?" _

_He never should have said anything, but bloody hills, he's getting desperate. Trust it to the parents to ignore him and then suddenly take offence to something he'd said before he was finished saying his point. _ _ **Yavanna** _ _, Paladin was right. Parents don't _ _ **listen. ** _

"_No, but-"_

_His father enters the conversation then, scowling disapprovingly. "We are Baggins of Bag End," he thunders, and Bilbo finds himself cowing slightly, "and we have a duty to the people of Hobbiton whether or not we think-" He glares at Bilbo and Bilbo cows even more. "-that it's not _ _ **our problem** _ _." _

_Bilbo hates this. He hates it so bloody much. He hates the residents of Hobbiton for not listening to his mother when she told them to board up and start rationing. He hates his parents for not listening to him. He hates himself for being cowed like this and not being able to communicate everything he needs to without getting himself yelled at. _

_It makes him _ _ **furious** _ _. _

"_IT'S DANGEROUS, OKAY?!" Bilbo shouts, stunning both his parents silent. "IT'S DANGEROUS AND THERE ARE HOBBITS WHO HAVE __**DIED**__ RECENTLY. __**DIED**__! IF WE GO OUT THERE THEN WE COULD ACTUALLY __**DIE**__. HAVE YOU EVEN STOPPED TO __**THINK **__ABOUT THAT?! THAT __**YOU**__ MIGHT ACTUALLY __**DIE**__?!" _

_Bilbo is huffing by the time he finishes yelling at his parents, who are both staring at him with wide eyes, and he can feel the frustration burning at his eyes. Oh Yavanna, he's crying. Bloody hills, he's trying to keep his parents from killing themselves and he ends up_ _ ** crying.** _ _ Damn it, damn it, damn it, _ _ **shite** _ _. _

_He fumbles for his handkerchief because he feels shamed enough _ _ **without ** _ _snot coming out his nose and sobbing his eyes out, and it's better than just standing them uselessly. _

"_Oh, Bilbo," his mother says fondly, and he can __**hear**__ her anger melting away. She takes his handkerchief from his hands and begins wiping the tears (and snot) from his face. _

_He hates that she has taken his handkerchief from him, as though he is incapable of wiping away his own tears although he knows she does not mean it like at (at least, not consciously). He hates that it is comforting, because in this moment it only seems to remind him that he is the child and they are the adults. _

"_We know it's dangerous, sweetling," Belladonna continues. "But we can't let our neighbours go hungry when we have food to spare. What kind of hobbits would we be if we did something like that?" _

_His father coughs loudly, and it sounds strangely like 'Sackville-Bagginses'. _

_Bilbo's mouth twitches upwards into a small size and bloody hills, he hates himself for it. He does not _ _ **want** _ _ to smile for them. He wants them to _ _ **understand** _ _ how bloody dangerous this is and therefore why they _ _ **shouldn't** _ _ be doing it. _

_Bilbo's knack is strong enough that his chances of being caught only exist if he slips on ice and accidentally knocks himself out falling over or something. But his parents' chances of being caught are only _ _ **somewhat** _ _ better than the chances of your average hobbit, and it was a hobbit with an above-average knack that was found _ _ **dead** _ _ last week. _

"_Don't you worry, son," Bungo advises warmly, "You'll be fine, especially with that knack of yours. There's no reason to be frightened." _

_Bilbo looks at his father and sees the sincerity in his da's eyes. He wants to scream. He wants to climb on the top of The Hill, on top of Bag End like he used to do when he was small, and just scream as loud as he can that, 'I'M NOT WORRIED ABOUT _ _ **ME** _ _.' _

_Because then, _ _ **maybe** _ _ then, they'll get it. _

_Then, _ _ **maybe** _ _ then, they'll stop hearing what he has to say and start _ _ **listening ** _ _instead. _

_Belladonna finally stops dabbing at his face with his handkerchief, but she doesn't give it back once she's done. She smiles at him, and it's the same loving smile that she's been giving him all his life that he's felt from the tips of his ears to the hair on his feet. But now it just feels condescending. _

"_Bilbo," she says, "you shouldn't worry like this. Think of this as... as... an adventure. Think of this as one big adventure, just like those books you love!" _

_Bilbo thinks he hates those books now. _

"_We're all just going to take on a little adventure," his mother says, beaming at him, seemingly having forgotten Bilbo isn't a waist-high faunt anymore. "And it'll be absolutely grand. You've always liked our adventures? Just think of this a little like that!"_

"_An adventure," Bilbo echoes blandly, unable to communicate clearly in those two words __**exactly**__ what he thinks of that idea._

* * *

_She mishandles it for a while, but finally manages to get the sheath to hang firmly from Bilbo's belt _ _ **and** _ _ stay upright. His mother grins up at him when she gets it. _

"_It's been awhile," she says cheerfully, before standing up and making an excited twirling motion with her hands. "Turn! Turn! Let me see!"_

_Bilbo sighs in exasperation and obey, turning around slowly to show his mother what her little 'hero' looks like with a proper blade at his belt like 'all brave adventurers have'. He does this slowly because last time she hadn't done it properly and Bilbo had almost lost a toe, but this time it seems to have been done properly. _

_His mother claps her hand in delighted glee, as though her enthusiasm could hide the fact that she has shadows under her eyes and Bilbo knows neither of his parents has slept properly since the winter took a turn for the worse. They must think he's blind as well as easily misled as a fauntling if they think he's buying what they're selling with this 'adventure' stuff and everything being absolutely fine. _

_He knows he isn't making things easier by arguing every chance he gets to try and convince them that if they're so dead set on saving the starving masses, then they should just let him do it all by himself. Nobody in this home was buying anything trying to be sold, it seemed. _

"_Now draw the sword!" His mother insists, and Bilbo complies. He doesn't want to, but even he's not argumentative enough to fight her on this. It's not big enough to be a sword really, probably really a dagger or short blade of some kind, so it seems like a hobbit size sword._

_The blade feels even heavier in his hand than it did at his waist. And in his hand, it is now glaringly obvious to him how much he _ _ **doesn't know ** _ _about using this tool he's been given, and it's _ _ **terrifying** _ _. _

_ **He does not feel like an 'adventurer'** _ _, he thinks, _ _ **because 'adventurers' surely don't feel like this, or they'd never step outside their doors. ** _

* * *

_Bilbo spends a day huddled in blankets to ward off the chill of the never-ending winter, pretending he can't hear the harsh whispers of a hushed argument between his parents, and re-reading the books he'd adored as a fauntling. The books that he had still adored as he'd gotten older... Until now. _

_They are children's books, a fauntling's stories before bedtime. They are tales of Dragons, Goblins, and princesses. Where the hero always triumphs despite having terrible odds, the princesses are always rescued from the Dragons or Goblins, and no ending implies anything less than perfect bliss for the rest of forever. _

_They really are _ _ **adventures** _ _. _

_They're stories. _

_They're stupid. _

_None of them are anything like this. _

_If there is a terrible, chilling winter that lasts seven years, then the winter is a curse that is swiftly broken by the hero. There is nothing said of poor families running out of food and having nothing to eat, as Bilbo has witnessed in his deliveries over the past few days. There is nothing said of rivers freezing and feral, starving wolves descending on whatever they can catch with rabid hunger. There is nothing said of people dying, it is as if the people simply stop existing during this time and pop back into existence as soon as the winter is over. _

_If Bilbo is the supposed hero, then there is very little guidance. There are no old beggar men on the sides of the roads offering advice and directions for a loaf of bread. There are no fairies or witches disguised as homeless old women looking for a place to sleep for the night. There are no enchanted weapons or armour or shields. There is only Bilbo, not even of age, with a blade he doesn't know how to use and a knack that only lets him help himself. _

_In adventures, no one died except the villains, and there were no villains here. There were no Dragons or Goblins or villainous evil beings to fight to save the day. There is only a relentless, frigid, unforgiving winter that would laugh aloud at him before a sword or his knack was of any use against it. _

_This was _ _ **not** _ _ an adventure. _

* * *

_Bilbo heard the door click and couldn't help but break out into a grin. He'd finished his deliveries _ _ **hours** _ _ ago, and now there wasn't any _ _ **way** _ _ his parents could deny that it would be better if they let him do _ _ **all** _ _ the deliveries. They could stay inside and wouldn't have to risk themselves so unnecessarily anymore!_

_Just to prove that he'd gotten home hours ago, he'd cleaned all of Bag End and made supper with what he'd had to make a meal with. He'd also re-shelved all of the many books he'd been reading and left in piles in the parlour, there had been a ridiculous number of books there and he'd put them all in their proper places in the library! Hah!_

_How they were going to argue that they _ _ **shouldn't** _ _ leave all the 'adventuring' to him _ _ **now** _ _, he'd like to know!_

_Bilbo practically skips his way towards the front hall, where his parents are standing taking in the, now nearly gleaming, Bag End. They... do not look pleased._

* * *

_If Bilbo could manage to make himself Unnoticeable to his parents, he would. _

_They didn't listen at _ _ **all** _ _. Instead, there'd just been a lot of arguing and then a _ _ **lot more** _ _ screaming arguments. Bilbo knows that the way things happened in the front hall two days ago was definitely his own fault; he inherited his mother's Took-ish temper if nothing else and was probably more antagonistic than he'd meant to be. _

_But _ _ **why** _ _ couldn't they just _ _ **listen** _ _? _

_This _ _ **wasn't ** _ _a joke. This _ _ **wasn't** _ _ an _ _ **'adventure'** _ _. They were going to get themselves killed this way and seemed to think Bilbo wanted to do it all himself out of some desire to _ _ **prove himself** _ _ to the residents of the Shire. Bilbo didn't give a shite about what the residents of the Shire thought about him, he just wanted his parents to see that they were risking themselves idiotically. _

_Where had it all gone so _ _ **wrong** _ _? Didn't they _ _ **know** _ _ him at _ _ **all** _ _? _

_Now he and his parents were barely speaking, which was impressive considering there wasn't anywhere for any of them to go. They were tip-toeing around each other, the hurts they'd all reaped from the argument too sensitive to 'get over'. Meanwhile, tiredness was catching up with his parents, and Bilbo's youth wouldn't last him much longer._

_Some adventure. _

* * *

_Were adventures supposed to leave their heroes hungry? What did heroes do in the dead of an impossible winter when food was running out? _

_Where was this adventure written down?_

_Oh right, it wasn't. Because no one wants to read about starving people, it's not particularly adventurous now, is it? Less people starving, more daring heroics where the only food anyone seems to eat are magical golden apples, _ _ **that's ** _ _what pulls the readers in._

* * *

_This was a bad idea. No, this was a terrible idea. No, this was a monumentally moronic idea that would see them and everyone on Bagshot Row _ _ **dead**__. _

_Trudging through the snow in the _ _ **hopes** _ _ of reaching some safe house, _ _ **hoping ** _ _that a large number of hobbits will deter any wolves they encounter, and _ _ **hoping** _ _ that they won't meet any wolves at all. The winter had not been kind to those who placed their safety in _ _ **hope** _ _ so far, why in all of Middle Earth would _ _ **hope** _ _ save them _ _ **now** _ _? _

_Adventures, his mum had laughingly called this mess again. As though there was a dragon right around the corner to be slain dead with a convenient magical sword, and suddenly everything would be better. _

_Bilbo had long since decided that if this was an adventure, then he would rather stay at home and be the boring and unexpected Baggins his relations on his father's side would expect of him. To go adventuring and exploring as the Tooks seemed wont to do sounded exciting, but Bilbo would pass up ever seeing any mountains if it meant his parents stopped being _ _ **noble fools** _ _. _

_He listened again for wolves, moving on with the caravan of hobbits going towards the safe house. But all he could hear was hushed conversation, fearful in tone, and the sounds of feet moving through the snow. _

_Bilbo mentally reviewed his plan to apologize to his parents and talk about everything he'd been feeling and everything that he'd intended to say, as soon as he was given a good opportunity. They were all he had, in the end, except perhaps for Bag End itself. _

_Then, Bilbo spotted an old woman making her hobbling way through the thick snow, and moved forward to offer her assistance. It wasn't as though that supposed dragon had shown up yet, and if there had been any enchanted swords lying about then he'd missed them. He might as well make himself useful, unlike all those princesses. _

* * *

_This was no adventure. No, not at all. _

_ **Adventures** _ _ happened in stories, this was real life. Where there was just enough danger to make the chance of none of them coming home far too great. If they was a story then it was a tragedy written about a _ _ **massacre** _ _. _

_Distract the wolves, so simple but not. The wolves were too sharp and too hungry, and the hobbits didn't stand a chance. The hobbits were currently _ _ **not standing ** _ _a chance, as they hooted and hollered at the wolves, then got torn apart and rip into for their efforts. _

_There was red all over the snow. _

_They never mentioned the blood in the stories, in the _ _ **adventures** _ _. _

_ **Why** _ _were there_ _ **so many ** _ _of the beasts? _ _ **Where had they come from? ** _

_ **Why was there so much blood?** _

_This was no '_ _adventure'_ _, it was a _ _nightmare_ _._

_Where was the magic sword or enchanted armour? The best... the _ _ **only** _ _... ability he had let him _ _hide like a coward and _ _ **nothing else** _ _ **. ** _

* * *

_Where _ _were his_ _ parents_ _?_

_ **Oh no.** _ _Oh no no no no no..._

_...no no no, not them, anyone but them..._

_...no no no no no, please Yavanna, no..._

_...why, why, why, this _ _ **shouldn't** _ _ be happening, it _ _ **couldn't** _ _ be happening... _

_...spare her, take me, spare her, take me... she does not deserve it, please, please, please, oh please no no no no... _

_ **...NO.** _

* * *

"An adventure," Bilbo echoes, staring at the stranger with wide eyes. He can feel his hands trembling slightly and lets them grip and wrinkled his pressed trousers to find some measure, _any measure_, of stability.

He can feel his heart racing, almost painfully, and suddenly he feels sick to his stomach while the rest of him feels numb. Were he not sitting down, he is sure that the sudden dizziness he is experiencing would have seen him meeting the ground hard and swift.

Bilbo notices the strange old man is staring at him as though he is something curious. He does not like the way the stranger is looking at him, this _tall_ stranger who comes bearing _unexpected_, _unwanted_ adventures.

He does _not like_ this stranger who has ruined his good morning and the complete rest of his day.

"I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging," the old man says, a variant continuation of his previous phrase, and does not appear to notice how Bilbo's hands clench his trousers even tighter than before, "and it's very difficult to find anyone."

Bilbo _stares_.

"I... I should think so," Bilbo exclaims after a moment, having caught his breath but feeling no less nauseated. "No, not in these parts! Nasty-"

_Terrible, tragic, horrible... _

"-disturbing-"

_Bloody, violent, sad..._

"-uncomfortable things!"

_Go away, go away, go away, go away. _

"Make you late for dinner!" Bilbo continues tightly.

_Go away and take your adventures with you. _

"I can't think what anybody sees in them!" Bilbo finishes cheerfully, about as honest in his cheer as his feet were hairless. His chest ached with every beat of his heart, and oh, that couldn't be a good thing.

_The last time adventures visited Bag End, it left this smial emptier than before. No more. _

"I don't imagine anyone west of Bree would have much interest in adventures! You might perhaps try over The Hill or across the Water," Bilbo suggested, feeling a sweaty heat flashing throughout him and thinking he might faint if he wasn't managing to hold himself together.

_This home cannot spare any more hobbits to adventures, there is only one left. Adventures will not take this one too. No more. _

_No more. _

The stranger says nothing, staring intensely at Bilbo still. Bilbo releases his trousers to steady himself so he can stand, to get himself away from this old man and into Bag End and away from all these memories.

Whoops, no, Bilbo feels, too unsteady to stand. He makes his way to his mailbox, close enough to help him stay upright without looking like a light-headed fool, and oh look, there's even actually mail there. That's convenient.

Bilbo leans a little too heavily on the mailbox as he opens it up to fetch his mail, but he disguises it well. The damned old man has not moved and not ceased staring, nor has the barmy coot deigned to speak again. Bilbo shuffles awkwardly through his mail, feeling incredibly uncomfortable, and then looks up.

Still staring. What in the bloody hills was wrong with this man?

"Good morning!" Bilbo offers again, and then spins as quickly as he dares to retreat behind the safe green door of Bag End. Where nobody will stare at him or make any mention of going on _adventures_.

'What a lot of things you do use _Good morning_ for!" The old man declared, finally deciding to speak again apparently. "Now you mean that you want to get rid of me, and that if won't be good till I move off!"

_Yes. Wonderful. Spot on. Exactly. Now take a _ _ **bloody** _ _ hint. _

"To think that I should have lived to be _good morning'd_ by Belladonna Took's son-"

..._excuse me?_

"-as if I were selling buttons at the door!"

_I think I would like you more if you __**were**__ selling buttons, _Bilbo thinks. _I like buttons. _

But he turns around anyway. "I beg your pardon?" Bilbo asks stiffly.

_Who does this nosy old coot think he is to come to _ _ **my ** _ _home, in the middle of _ _ **my** _ _ good morning, demanding adventures and mentioning _ _ **my** _ _ mother?_

"You've changed," the old man declares, sounding considering, "and not entirely for the better, Bilbo Baggins."

_..._

_How dare you. _

_How dare you come into my life and tell me who I am, and how I've changed as though I'm some sort of disappointment to you. _

Bilbo was slightly cross before, but now his trembling is more from rage than whatever it had been before. He feels overheated, burning from fury, and his chest aches fiercely now. If he loses his second breakfast on this stranger's grey robe then he will be _entirely_ free of blame, in his opinion.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo says, relying on the best of his manners training to keep himself from doing something like kicking the man repeatedly in the shins while Unnoticeable, "But _do I know you_?"

The old man finally ceases leaning on his oversized stick, and straightens to his full height. If Bilbo had stayed where he was, then the looming effect would probably have been greatly intimidating.

"Well, you do know my name, though you don't remember that I belong to it," the grey stranger declares theatrically. "I am Gandalf! And Gandalf means... me."

_Oh. _

"Gandalf... Not the wandering wizard who used to set off such excellent fireworks on Midsummer's eve?" Bilbo muses aloud, slightly disbelieving and more than a little worried.

He did, in fact, remember a Gandalf from his youth, and _also_ knew a Gandalf from the inevitable informant that was the gossip chain of the Shire.

Bilbo had been awed by the wizard as a fauntling, as Gandalf had used to tell rather fantastic stories at parties. Stories that had greatly impressed him and a number of his peers at the time, containing dragons, goblins, giants, as well as the rescuing of princesses and the unexpected luck of widow's sons... _adventure _stories.

Not to mention that the fireworks Gandalf made for Old Took to set off on Midsummer's eve had truly been excellent. The fireworks had popped and whizzed and banged and glittered with a magic that lit up the night sky as bright as daylight. The lilies and snapdragons that sparkled high above made wonderful memories for a fauntling.

But Gandalf had another reputation. Bilbo could hear his Baggins great-aunts now, complaining about how once upon a time 'that dratted old wizard' had upset things and disturbed the peace of the Shire time and time again to send good, proper hobbits off to visit elves and do ridiculous things like _go sailing. _

This wizard had a habit, long ago proven, of taking quiet and respectable lads and lasses and dragging or sending them off into the Blue for mad _adventures _that even only the most Took-ish of Tooks dreamed of.

"I beg your pardon," Bilbo says, gritting his teeth and wondering if it's really too late to just run away, "I had no you were even still in business."

Gandalf harrumphs. "And where else should I be?"

_Anywhere but here_.

"Ah, hmm..." Bilbo says, unable to come up with anything that wasn't unbelievably rude somehow. Responses involving crudity were coming far too easily at the moment.

He really needed this conversation to end already so he could go collapse into the safety of Bag End, because he still felt sweaty, hot, and nauseated, but also was feeling somewhat detached from himself now and wasn't sure how much longer he could stay standing like this.

"Well!" Gandalf declares, shifting his stance and tapping the end of his staff on the ground. "I'm pleased to find you remember something about me. You seem to have remembered my fireworks kindly if nothing else, and that is not without hope. Well, that's decided!"

_Wait, what? What's decided?_

"Indeed for your old grandfather Took's sake, and for the sake of poor Belladonna-"

Bilbo stared frozen at the wizard, if only to prevent himself from screaming at the man for that statement alone. How _dared_ he?

"-I will give you what you asked for," Gandalf states firmly, ignoring the blank _shock _and _intense mixture _of emotions that Bilbo's face switched between as he spoke.

"_I beg your pardon_," Bilbo exclaims, hoping that he doesn't fall over from whatever is making his chest tight and his breathing difficult. "I haven't _asked _for anything!"

But Gandalf ignores this exclamation. "It will be very good for you," the wizard says, "and most amusing for me – and profitable too, very likely, if you ever get over it. I shall inform the others."

"Inform the who?" Bilbo demands, trying to keep up with the barrage of offensive and confusing statements the wandering wizard keeps throwing out. "What? No. No. _NO! _Wait!" He calls, as Gandalf begins to move away. "We _do not want_ any adventures here, thank you! Not today, not- not ever. Not _ever._"

Bilbo feels as though his lungs have decided that he needs much less air to survive than he did ten minutes ago, and they haven't seen fit to inform him of the change. The discomforting ache in his chest stings now, and the numbness feels as though it is crawling through his legs while a dizziness attacks his head. His hands are definitely shaking, the letters within them are crumpled into waste now.

But he _will _keep it together.

"I suggest you try over The Hill or across The Water," Bilbo repeats, strained. No, he won't last much longer if he stays out here. "Good morning!" He yelps, retreating into Bag End with a gesture that could have been a farewell. It's rude for him to close the door without waiting for a reply, but he _doesn't care_ and closes the green door behind him with a sagging relief.

His legs give out, and Bilbo finds himself on the floor of his home just inside the door with his crumpled mail surrounding him, his trembling hands had been unable to keep a hold as he fell.

Is it normal to feel as though your heart was trying to burst from your ribcage at the same time that you suddenly couldn't catch your breath? He feels numb, sweaty, too hot, and as though he's going to be seeing what he ate for second breakfast within the next ten seconds. He feels incredibly detached from what simultaneously feels like he's dying.

Bilbo lays his head down on the floor and curls in on himself, clutching his knees and trying to regulate his breathing. He feels terrible and _helpless_, as there seems to be nothing he can do except hold on to a floor that keeps moving and hope his heart stops sending spasms of pain through his chest.

He doesn't know how long he stays there.

_The last time adventures visited Bag End, it left this smial emptier than before. No more. _

He doesn't care.

_This home cannot spare any more hobbits to adventures, there is only one left. Adventures will not take this one too. No more. _

He does not want anymore '_adventures_' here... thank you.

_No more. _

* * *

"-ister Baggins, sir? Mister Baggins? Are you home? Mister Baggins, sir?"

Bilbo groggily sits up, and blearily realizes that he's been lying on the floor of his front hall. Judging by the feeling of his side, he's been laying there for some time. And... someone was knocking on the door.

"I'll be there in a moment!" Bilbo calls, barely coherently, to whoever is on the other side of his front door. He thinks it sounds like Hamfast.

The knocking stops. "Mister Baggins, sir? Are you alright?"

Yep, that's Hamfast.

"I'm fine! I'm fine! Just... just a moment!"

Bilbo pulls himself to his feet, which ache with stinging and tingling pain from too long in an uncomfortable position. Did he fall asleep or faze out? He doesn't know. His legs are _screaming_ in pain, Bilbo hisses from the feeling, and stumbles, landing back onto the floor.

"Mister Baggins, sir?"

Bilbo grimaces and pulls himself to his feet again. Leaning heavily on the door and firmly ignoring all the aches and pains of his body, he pulls it open to reveal a rather worried looking Hamfast. Well... that wasn't too odd, Hamfast's default expression seemed to be worried when he wasn't looking generally content.

Hamfast's eyes widen at the sight of Bilbo, and Bilbo realizes that he probably looks like an absolute wreck. His best clothes are rumpled and crinkled, and a quick run through of his hair with one hand reveals that he's definitely had better hair days.

"What is it, Hamfast?" Bilbo asks wearily.

"You've... you... erm... Bag End's been coming in and out of being Noticeable for the past half-hour about," Hamfast says, as though he is confessing something. "So Mistress Millwater says, anyhow. So a few of us were wonderin' if you was alright, and I thought I should come check to see how you were. Are you alright, Mister Baggins, sir?"

_Oh, Hamfast. More people could do worse than to have a Gamgee or two in their life_, Bilbo thinks fondly.

Outwardly, Bilbo says, "I'm... fine now, Hamfast, thank you. Thank you for coming to check on me, I greatly appreciate you took the time to do so."

Hamfast puffs his chest out. "There was nothin' to it, Mister Baggins, sir," he proclaims, and then he seems to soften as he regards Bilbo. "Is there anything else I can be doing for you while I'm here, Mister Baggins, sir?"

Bilbo's polite refusal is at the tip of his tongue before he remembers that he had several responsibilities today, and he cannot simply bid Hamfast farewell and collapse on his bed before he collapsed on the floor again or something of the like.

There's no way he'll be able to go through the rest of the day like this, now that his good morning has been absolutely _ruined_.

"Actually," Bilbo says slowly, "I do believe there is. Would you be so kind as to tell Mirabella that I won't be able to make her luncheon? And Mister Bolger that I'll have to talk to him about the property boundary matter some other time? And Miss Oleandra that we'll have to have our archery competition another day? I... I'll be somewhat... indisposed for the rest of today, I think."

Hamfast's nodding through all the requests turns to concern at the last statement.

"If I might be so bold, Mister Baggins, sir," Hamfast says worriedly, "what happened?"

Bilbo sighs, leaning a shoulder on the door. "I'm afraid I had an unexpected visitor, one who I had not seen in a very long time," he says. "And he happened to bring up some... very bad memories and hurtful feelings with some of the things he said."

"That's terrible."

"You don't have to tell me," Bilbo agrees. "If that Gandalf wants someone to join one of his fool adven-... _quests, _then he's talking to the wrong hobbit."

For the first time in a long time, Bilbo sees Hamfast scowl heavily. His even-tempered and worrying gardener was not a hobbit prone to unpleasant emotions. Bilbo is fairly sure the last time he saw his gardener scowl like that was six years ago when the child snatchers came to Hobbiton.

"The wizard did _what_?" Hamfast says angrily. Then, "Don't you worry, Mister Baggins, sir. You take all the time you need and I'll let folks know that you've got some rememberin' an' recoverin' to do. You just take a day and relax, maybe stay in for the time bein' so everybody knows not to be nosy, eh? I'll take care of things, Mister Baggins, sir, don't you worry."

This is perhaps the most that Bilbo has ever heard Hamfast talk about something other than potatoes or other gardening matters. It's rather nice to know that Hamfast is so furious on his behalf, it's… comforting.

"Thank you, Hamfast," Bilbo replies, "I... believe I will. I'm not in the mood for dealing with Lobelia today and she'll likely track me down when she finds out I'm not at the luncheon. I would not put it past her to knock on the door, no matter what signs say, so long as the door was still there to knock on."

"...Are ya sure you couldn't have let her drown, Mister Baggins, sir?" Hamfast asks sourly.

It's so completely unexpected coming from Hamfast, much more the thing Bilbo would have expected his cousin Paladin to say, that Bilbo laughs despite his mood, and Hamfast grins knowingly.

"Thank you, Hamfast," Bilbo repeats kindly. "I expect that I shall see you sometime tomorrow."

"Take care of yourself, Mister Baggins, sir," Hamfast says seriously.

Bilbo smiles faintly. "And you as well."

Hamfast shakes his head. "I mean it, Mister Baggins, sir. Most of the Shire don't know you, and like you or don't from hobbit to hobbit, but you're the only Baggins left in Bag End. And you're the only employer I got, too. Take… take care of yourself, Mister Baggins, sir."

Bilbo stared at Hamfast, something in his gardener's statements and earnest righteousness soothing the jagged edges of his current upset mindset.

"I will, Hamfast, thank you," Bilbo says, touched.

Hamfast tips his head and turns towards Bag End's gate to go tell the rest of Hobbiton that the gentle-hobbit on the top of The Hill needed a day to himself today. Hamfast would likely have to argue with a few of Bilbo's Baggins relatives, but no one has managed yet to out-stubborn a Gamgee and Hamfast wouldn't mind. Perhaps his gardener would have to deal with the Sackville-Bagginses too, since Otho and Lobelia had never approved of Bilbo's disappearing home, but Bilbo knew that Hamfast would toss Lobelia in another river himself before he let her come near Bag End now. The loyalty of the Gamgees was _ferocious_ at best.

_Yes, more people could do worse than to have a Gamgee or two in their life_, Bilbo thinks as he closes Bag End's green door and decides to try and make the best of whatever was left of his day that had started out with _such_ a good morning.

* * *

In the end, Bilbo does not do much. He feels too emotionally exhausted and mentally drained from his encounter with the wizard to accomplish anything of any value. He also couldn't shake the stress and tenseness from worrying whether or not the wizard would listen to his refusal or attempt something else intrusive and unexpected to try and catch him off guard.

He's had seven cups of tea so far, which probably communicated just how badly he'd been shaken recalling what he privately considers the worst time of his life. Tea always made things better, but it had taken the first four cups to get him feeling like a person again.

Bilbo's Unnoticeable-ness hung over Bag End like a heavy velvet blanket, permeating the halls with a thick feeling of safety, comfort, warmth, and sleepiness. The familiar crimson fabric sensation of his knack was a welcome reassurance that he was hidden, that he was safe, that nothing could _physically_ get to him now.

Like wrapping yourself in a beloved blanket at night, to protect you from irrational fears of the creatures in your closet and under your bed that you have no proof of but you know are there.

He sighed, clutching his eighth cup of tea a little tighter, and went to go sit in his favourite chair in the parlour again. It had been like this all afternoon, torn between curling up in a chair or his bed and needing to wander the halls of Bag End letting his Unnoticeable-ness cover every crack and carved piece of wood.

Maybe he should get a book, yes, a book would be nice.

Bilbo makes his way to the library and runs one hand across the spines of the shelved books, searching absently. He does not feel as though he can appreciate the beauty of elvish works at the moment, nor does he feel like reading about anything historic or non-fictional.

He believes that he has had enough of a dose of reality for today.

Finally, his finger lands on a book spine at the end of the shelf, slightly dusty and long untouched. Curious, Bilbo sets his teacup down and pulls the book from the shelf, opening it to the first page and forgetting to breathe for a moment.

_To my darling Bilbo, _

_Who dreams of going over mountains instead of staying under-Hill,_

_From your loving mother, _

_Belladonna Took. _

With a shaking hand, Bilbo turns the page and does not have to read the words to recite what is written there. He once read these stories from cover to cover as though they were some sort of life line, a way to live an entirely different life. This musty old book of fantasy used to be his inspiration before he cast it away during a cold winter when reality got too hard.

It is a book of stories, stories of Dragons, Goblins, and princesses, where the hero is always triumphant and the end is always happy. These are adventure stories. He has not read these stories in a very long time, because he had not wished to be hurt by the memories he knew would be revived by them.

But now... now he is already hurt.

He believes he could stand to read these stories one more time, for a younger time's sake.

* * *

The rest of the day is suitably uneventful. No hobbits come knocking on Bag End's green door, not that any hobbits could manage to Notice the door anyhow.

Bilbo reads and drinks more tea. He finds it in him to eat another meal and is pleased to find that he is able to eat it all. Then Bilbo drinks more tea and reads some more, and then reads some more and decides he should probably cut himself off from the tea or his bladder won't be able to take anymore.

His emotional and mental exhaustion combine with his physical tiredness from feeling tense, stressed, and battle-ready for a good fraction of the day. So Bilbo decides to eat an early dinner and have a warm bath, sending himself to bed while the last stretches of sunlight disappear over the horizon.

So what if he'll likely wake up before the sun rises? He doesn't have anyone to impress or anyone to meet with, or do anything at all. He can have two bloody days off if he wants to, Bilbo decides, as he slips out of consciousness mere seconds after his head hits the pillow.

Bilbo _dreams_.

It's a bloody confusing dream.

He is caught in the crossfire between the Brandybucks and the Baggins marching off to war against each other armed with silver cutlery. Primula Brandybuck battles goblins and a dragon that looks suspiciously like Lobelia in order to save the princess Drogo. And a grey wandering wizard sets the entire scene afire with fireworks that turn out to be made from sparkling potatoes and other vegetables.

After the last firework has gone off, Bilbo sits upright in bed, bleary and unthinking. Then just stays there and dimly tries to comprehend the sheer incredulous '_what in the bloody hills_'-ness of what his brain managed to come up with.

He thinks he can hear arguing, which sounds a lot like Elladan and Elrohir when they argue because only siblings yelled at each other like that. But that didn't make any sense, because the twins were off visiting an old shipwright to the East still. And why on all of Middle Earth would Elladan and Elrohir be arguing about burglars and an uncle?

That make even less sense. Lord Elrond's only brother died a long time ago. And Lord Elrond had made Glorfindel promise to stop 'borrowing' things after that disastrous diplomatic trip that had yielded surprisingly good results, it had been one of the conditions of the treaty.

_I must be even tireder than I'd thought_, Bilbo thinks blearily. Then he flops back down into his pillow and rolls over, pulling his blankets over his shoulders. He lets the heavy thickness of Bag End's Unnoticeable-ness lull him back to sleep nearly immediately, and completely forgets any strange dreams about fireworks or arguing siblings.

* * *

_Five minutes previously..._

"Fíli?"

"Yes, Kíli?"

"There's the mark."

"Yes, Kíli."

"Where's the door?"

* * *

_A/N: So Chapter 13 is happening, sort of. I'll probably finish it by tomorrow at the latest. Except... ugh, actual real life stuff to get done. I'm trying. Oh hey, I need to be at work in less than an hour, fancy that.  
_

_Anyway... This here is one of my favourite chapters actually. It's the longest so far too. I'll readily admit that I paraphrase **a lot** from the books and the movies - the conversation between Gandalf and Bilbo here is nearly entirely word for word, I believe - but I'd like to think that I give a new perspective to the lines. Know that I'm trying to make any lines from the books seem like allusions that tie this work to the actual works, I don't claim any coinciding lines as mine. _

_And hey, to anyone actually paying attention to this fic, if you've got the time, let me know what you think. I could really use the feedback. _


	9. The Mark on the Door

_Disclaimer: About that Tolkien themed area in a theme park, can you imagine the sweet stuff you could get out of that? Like a Mines of Moria roller coaster in the dark, maybe with a fiery Balrog. Or a Lonely Mountain coaster through Smaug's hoard. Is anyone else feeling the need to go on Hobbit themed roller coasters? I am._

_Of Mister Tolkien's works, I own nothing, and I am receiving no profit for this._

* * *

_A/N: So... I drop the F-bomb a few times in this chapter, I think. Does anyone care? Just letting people know. _

* * *

**Chapter Nine: The Mark on the Door  
**

_In which there is a mark, but there is no door._

_And dwarves, but no burglar._

"Green door, he said."

"I know, Kíli."

"Round green door! He put the mark on a round green door! That's what he said!"

"He did."

"_Where's_ the door then?!"

"I really don't know, Kíli."

Kíli scowled at his elder brother, who was being maddeningly unhelpful. Fíli appeared entirely unconcerned at the fact that there was no door where there was _supposed to be a door_. The older Durin brother's lack of reaction made Kíli – although he'd deny he did any such thing – pout.

Fíli, meanwhile, was rather occupied attempting to understand _why_ the wizard would put the mark here when there _wasn't actually anything here_. According to Gandalf, their burglar lived in a hole in a hill, called a 'smile' or something, and his 'smile' had a round green door on which Gandalf had left a glowing mark.

_Zero for two for the wizard, then_, Fíli thought.

It was, of course, entirely possible that the wizard was going blind from old age or something similar. Fíli might have said senile, but as foolish as he knew he could be, his mother had not raised an idiot. Insulting a wizard and to question their decisions was idiocy of the highest degree, or at least, doing so _aloud_ was idiocy.

Then Kíli's stomach growled and the younger Durin moaned.

"Fíli," Kíli whined. "He said there'd be food, Fíli. Plenty of it! How is there supposed to be food if there isn't even a door?"

_Good question_.

"Maybe the door's hidden?" Fíli suggested with a shrug, unhappily inwardly ignoring his own clawing hunger pangs.

Kíli looked considering at this, then looked back at the glowing mark. Drawing an arrow from his quiver, he cautiously poked at it with the tip then flinched back as _absolutely nothing happened. _Not one to be deterred, Kíli tried again.

After the twentieth poke or so with various objects, hands, and feet, as well as of various strengths, it was determined that the mark was not going to open a hidden door into the hillside.

"Oh, Mahal," Kíli realized, in the process of putting his boot back on. "Uncle is going to _kill _us!"

Fíli frowned, at Kíli and then at the _clearly_ _misplaced_ mark that was _not_ on any door. "Why would he do that?" F íli asked, trying to understand his younger brother's thought process. "This _actually _isn't our fault."

"But he'll blame us _anyway_ for scaring off the burglar or something!" Kíli insists. "For not being able to find the burglar's home! What if this is a test, a test to prove our competence, and we failed? He's not going to like this at all!"

Grimacing, Fíli had to concede a nod to that fact. The rest of speculation but that last bit was true, if only because there were a great many things (mostly everything, few exceptions) that their uncle did not like.

"Fíli!" Kíli yelps, a look of horror on his face. "What if he sends us _home_?"

The elder Durin startles slightly, Kíli's horror mirrored on his face for the briefest of moments before he clears his throat. "He's not going to send us _home_," Fíli assures his brother, somewhat uncertainly. Mahal, he hoped not.

Kíli, however, was not listening to Fíli's lacking assurances.

"And then Mum'll _kill _us," Kíli whispers, pale and terrified. "I don't want to die because we failed Uncle's test to find the burglar! Fíli, I'm too young to die! I'm too young!"

Fíli stood still, nearly as pale as his brother at the thoughts Kíli was spouting.

Right, their mother who had very much not given them permission to be on this quest, and was probably currently sharpening her axes and muttering angrily. Leaving her a note had likely not been the best of ideas, though neither Fíli or Kíli would try to claim that it had even been a very _good_ idea, and it was also a coward's way out, really.

Then again, Fíli had yet to meet a dwarf, no matter their age, who did not cower in fear or perhaps even be educated of the true meaning of terror when faced with an angry Lady Dís. So, in their defence, leaving a note and running for it was somewhat justified.

But these were not arguments that would hold up in the Court of Dís.

"He's not going to send us home," Fíli repeated firmly, to himself as bunch as his brother. "He wouldn't have come up with a test that involves finding a place, Kíli, and send us home because of it. Firstly, it would be hypocrisy. Secondly, it was the wizard who suggested we try to be the ones to arrive first."

Fíli didn't know why this was. All the wizard had said was that their burglar had seem rather unsettled of sorts when they'd spoken last, and it might do well to give the halfling a favourable first impression with young and friendly faces. So Fíli and Kíli had arrived first, racing each other all the way here, and now it had turned out that Gandalf had a very different and very _unknown_ definition of a 'door'.

"If Uncle gets mad and sends us home because we can't find the burglar," Kíli suddenly declares, "you should be the one to take the blame."

"_What?_" Fíli demands, incensed. "Why should I be the one to take the blame?!"

"Because _I'm_ too young to die," Kíli explains.

Fíli scowls. "You're only younger than me by _five _years!"

"Exactly, and I'm much more good-looking. So I can't be the one to die."

On some deep level, Fíli knows his brother is joking about this. _If _ their uncle goes get mad that they _clearly_ got lost (it would be totally hypocritical), neither of them would ever try to foist the blame on the other. But their uncle or mother's anger is not exactly a subject to joke about.

Also, the claim that Kíli is better looking than he is is _deeply_ offensive.

"More good-looking than what? A toad?" Fíli snarks.

"Than you!"

"Oh, so where's your beard then? Because it's as existent as our burglar right now!"

Kíli gasps and Fíli winces. That was a low blow and they both know it.

"I'm sorry, Kee," Fíli says sympathetically. "I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did!"

"I did not!"

"You _did,_" Kíli says, then sniffs sadly. "Why can't I grow a beard, Fíli? It's not fair!"

Fíli walks over and hugs his brother. "Life's not fair, Kíli," Fíli tells his young brother after standing back and holding Kíli by the shoulders. "You know that."

"Then why can't it be unfair in my favour?" Kíli whines. "Life's never unfair in my favour, and Uncle's never _fair_ in my favour! How's a dwarf supposed to deal with that?"

"Uncle's fair in our favour, Kíli," Fíli corrects. "Just... not predisposed to hearing our side of the story sometimes."

"It's like he always thinks we're guilty, Fee!"

"We usually are."

"Still!" Kíli protests.

Fíli doesn't have a response to that, so he releases his brothers and shrugs. Kíli sighs and pokes the mark they're standing next to one more time, it continues to glow almost mockingly at them both and Fíli feels like kicking it. It won't help, he knows this because Kíli's already tried it, but it might make him feel better.

"So..." Kíli says. "Are you gonna take the blame for not being able to find the burglar or what?"

Fíli sighs. "I'm _not_ taking the blame for this from Uncle!"

"As the elder sibling, I'm pretty sure it's your responsibility to take the blame for things like this. Uncle will-"

"_I'm not taking the blame for this_."

"But Fíli-"

"I'M NOT," Fíli states loudly, putting an end to any idea that involves him getting yelled at by their uncle and possibly Balin and Dwalin (although Dwalin will probably just smack them both upside the head and grunt disapprovingly).

Kíli looks downtrodden. "But Fee, what do we _do_?" He asks, sounding miserable and pathetic and Fíli fixes his eyes on the glowing mark to avoid the fake puppy-eyes look that he can sense are being shot at him with full strength.

Eyes focused on the mark, Fíli gets an idea. An absolutely _brilliant _idea.

"We'll blame the wizard," Fíli decides.

"Fee!" Kíli gasps. "That's terrible! Why would you blame a _wizard_?!"

"He's the one who put the mark on the door. We found the mark. It's not our fault the door it's supposed to be on is missing," Fíli explains.

Kíli considers this, and then says, "_Brilliant_."

"Thank you."

"What are you two dunderheads doing _now_?" Growls an angry voice behind them and both Durin brothers flinch as they turn to see the dwarf who trained them and can still beat them both up practically blindfolded.

"It was like this when we got here," is the first thing Fíli can think to say.

"There's no door," Kíli adds, both helpfully and unhelpfully.

Dwalin looks between the young dwarves he'd known all the lives and trained for a great many years, and then stares at the mark glowing very much _not_ on a round green door.

"Well... fuck," he says.

Fíli and Kíli exchanged a nervous look, because what else could they do?

* * *

Thorin was going to be _pissed_.

Their king had not been pleased that Gandalf had gone above his head to hire a burglar without consulting him, and even less pleased when the wizard had revealed that the burglar he'd hired was a _halfling_. Thorin did not like halflings, and neither did Dwalin really. Halflings were soft, pampered, and about as dangerous as a mildly angered rabbit.

So... not dangerous at all.

Wizards, on the other hand, were extremely dangerous.

So Thorin had had little choice but to go along with the wizard's choice in burglar, and he'd gone along with large amounts of ill grace. So much ill grace that Dwalin's brother had had that tight smile on his face that meant Balin wanted to go repeatedly bang his head against the nearest hard surface or maybe go repeatedly bang _Thorin's_ head against the nearest hard surface. (Durins were extremely good at evoking that feeling in people. In Dwalin's mind, it had to be royalty thing.)

Thorin had_ actually_ said to Dwalin, before travelling North to meet with their kin, " _Dwalin, old friend, promise me something. No matter what the wizard does_ _ , _ _ **do not** _ _ let me hit him. He's a wizard, I cannot be allowed to hit him _ _ **no matter what he does ** _ _ because he's a wizard. No matter _ _ **how** _ _ stupid or meddling or overbearing or manipulative it is, he's still a wizard. If I hit him, it will likely be the end of me because he's a wizard, and then _ **F****íli** _ will have to be _ _ **king** _ _ . Dwalin, _ _ **do not let me hit the wizard** _."

Well, looked like Dwalin was going to have to be acting on that promise sooner than he'd thought. It seemed that Gandalf was even better at evoking violent feelings in people than Durins, which didn't feel like a particularly promising trait in one of the supposed protectors of Middle Earth. Since most of the royalty and leaders that Dwalin had met shared that talent to various degrees, it was no wonder that most of Middle Earth hated each other.

"Explain," Dwalin grunted.

"Well..." Fíli began. "Gandalf said that the burglar had seemed slightly unsettled the last time he'd seen him."

"So Gandalf told us that it might be best if we were the first ones here," Kíli explains, "because he thought the burglar would react best to young and... uh... friendly dwarves."

That actually makes sense somewhat, and although Fíli and Kíli are a terrible choice to make first impressions on most people, Gandalf knew their burglar best and his wisdom wasn't _ always, totally _wrong. Dwalin nods for them to continue, ignoring the 'friendliness' bit because he knew he wasn't the most amiable of dwarves and he'd long ago accepted that and forced everyone of his acquaintance to accept it too (especially his diplomat of a brother).

"So we came ahead," Kíli continues, "but... erm..."

"We followed the directions," Fíli takes over, "and found the mark, but it isn't on the round green door he said it would be. There's actually no home here _at all. _So-"

"And it's completely not our fault!" Kíli interjects.

"-we were wondered what we should do," Fíli finishes, ignoring his brother's interjection.

They both simultaneously glance sheepishly at Dwalin, who was long used to them speaking nearly on top of each other and long immune to the many expressions they used in their pathetic attempts to evoke pity and sympathy. The Durin brothers were looking at him as though he was going to tell them what to do and solve all their problems.

_Hah... no. _

"We'll wait for Balin," Dwalin grunts, and then heads off to sit on a comfortable looking bench he spots nearby. He's not the thinker of the family and, unlike the Durins, he doesn't even want to attempt _trying _to be.

Fíli and Kíli exchange another brief look as they watch their cousin seat himself on the (absolutely adorable but he's not admitting it) hobbit bench with enough force that it is honestly surprising the bench doesn't crack, his pack dropped by his feet. Waiting for Balin is actually a very sensible idea, and it'll mean that they can stop trying to solve this mystery on their own and dump... er... _ hand off _ all the responsibility onto someone older and wiser.

Without speaking, Fíli and Kíli move to a section of the soft grass close to the bench where Dwalin is sitting, that hobbit bench barely looks big enough for _ one _ dwarf, and set their stuff down. Then they plop themselves down on the grass, tired from their long (and _ fast _thanks to the wizard) journey here, to do the thing they were absolutely terrible at.

Being patient.

After thirty seconds, Kíli's stomach growls and the younger Durin moans.

"He said there'd be food," Kíli whines again.

"I know, Kee," Fíli says sympathetically, "I know."

Dwalin didn't want to listen to the brothers whine, he's had enough of _ that _ for a _ lifetime _, but he can't bring himself to tell them off. He too had been expecting a warm and comfortable place to rest and lots of food to eat, just as the wizard had promised them. His own stomach is gnawing unhappily, and the night is cool enough to make him wish he were something a little warmer.

He knew he should've made Thorin promise to keep _ him _ from hitting the wizard too. But that wouldn't have worked if they were ever _ both _ pissed with the old bastard and that looked like it was _ probably definitely _going to happen. Maybe Balin would agree to keep them from punching the wizard in the gut, that seemed like the kind of thing he'd agree with and would probably try to do anyway without making any promises.

Thorin was going to be _ pissed _ though, _ royally pissed _.

King Fíli, with Kíli as heir to the throne... Mahal help them all.

* * *

Balin strolled through the Shire with a calm outward appearance. He tried to keep a more sedate pace so that he could better enjoy the scenic landscape of the Shire, but kept hastening his pace unconsciously due to his _ slight _panic at the idea that Fíli and Kíli were to be the first ones to meet with their burglar.

He trusted Gandalf... to a degree. Balin was a diplomat and royal adviser, so he trusted many people to certain degrees and only in certain areas, and he currently had to wonder if the grey wizard was sure that sending the boys ahead was the best course of action.

No, it did no good to worry. Surely the wizard knew what he was doing, as he had been the one to hire their mysterious halfling burglar, 'Mister Baggins'. There was absolutely no need for Balin to be walking fast so that the time Fíli and Kíli were alone with their burglar was minimal.

The Shire was really quite a peaceful and beautiful place, Balin observed, during the day and during the night. And what an especially lovely night it was, too, although glancing at the clouds he wondered if it might rain later tonight. Thankfully, that would not matter, seeing as how he would reach the burglar's home within a few minutes.

However when he reaches the top of the hill where Gandalf had said the burglar's home would be, and sees the glowing mark Gandalf had said he'd left, there is not any home at all, with a green door or otherwise. Instead, there is a gate and steps with the mark at the top of the steps, and Fíli and Kíli sprawled on the grass by the steps. And...

"Evening, brother!" Balin calls, letting himself through the gate and having spotted his brother seated on an bench next to where the sons of Dís are inelegantly and gracelessly flopped.

Fíli and Kíli look up and Dwalin turns his head, then the second son of Fundin's face breaks out into a wide smile.

"By my beard," Dwalin declares in a (delighted) growl as he stands. "You are shorter and wider than last we met, brother!"

"Wider, not shorter," Balin corrects, as the sons of Fundin come together in a brief hug and clap each other on the shoulder. "And still sharp enough for the both of us!"

Then the two grasp each other's shoulders and smash their foreheads together in their customary greeting. It really is good to see each other again, no matter how long ago they had been apart. Balin and Dwalin grin at each other like fellow conspirators.

"We should start greeting each other like that, Fee," Kíli muses to his elder brother.

The grins between the older dwarves drop immediately.

"NO!" Balin and Dwalin shout simultaneously, whirling on the Durin brothers at the same time and causing both younger dwarves to fall backwards onto the grass in surprise. Bashing foreheads risks head injury in inexperienced and untrained dwarves, and neither Fíli nor Kíli can really afford to try.

Satisfied that Fíli and Kíli have been stopped from doing anything particularly idiotic for this moment in time, Balin turns back to his brother. "What is happening, brother?" Balin asks. "Where is our burglar's home and why are we not inside? And, more importantly, where is our burglar?"

"Can't find 'im," Dwalin reveals, displeased.

"There's not a door to go along with the mark!" Kíli offers far too cheerfully.

"At least, not one we've been able to find," Fíli adds.

"So we were waiting for you!" Kíli explains. "Please solve whatever's happening here, I'm hungry. Gandalf said there'd be food and there's no food."

"I still think you could try eating the grass," Fíli says. "Sheep do it. You should be able to manage it."

"That's insulting," Kíli says, and then, "but I''m so hungry, I'm not sure I care."

"Do _not_ try to eat grass," Balin states firmly, putting an end to any nonsense before it can begin. "Are you certain that there is no door, brother? The wizard said that these halflings lived in holes in the ground, after all."

Dwalin snorts. "The wizard also said he'd left the mark on a green door-"

"A _round_ green door," Fíli sees fit to add.

"-do you see a bloody door, brother?" Dwalin demands. "Because I don't. I see no damned door and I've seen no bloody burglar."

_Well... that was a problem. _

* * *

Much to Fíli and Kíli's dismay, and to the dismay of their stomachs, Balin has absolutely no idea what is happening or how to solve it. There is the mark just as Gandalf said there would be, but it is not _where_ he said it would be, or... it's _where_ the wizard had said it would be but _without_ the burglar or the burglar's home.

It is fairly firmly a mystery that will have to wait on the wizard.

Balin briefly makes the suggestion that perhaps the mark requires a password and regrets it as Fíli and Kíli light up and begin chattering to the glowing mark of anything they could think of in relation in Gandalf, burglars, 'Mister Boggins', or halflings. Balin gives it a few tries but quickly gives up. Even Dwalin gives it a bit of a go to no avail.

It is definitely a mystery that will have to wait on the wizard.

When the rest of their party arrives (sans Thorin, who is likely majestically wandering the hills lost as fuck somewhere), it is to see Balin and Dwalin talking quietly on a bench that looks fit to break, Fíli sitting with his head between his knees in defeat, and Kíli talking rather morosely to the glowing mark about all the foods he wanted to eat.

To say that the Durin and Fundin brothers were unhappy with the grey wizard and to say that the other eight dwarves of their party were confused, was putting it rather mildly. Kíli and Fíli glare resentfully at Gandalf and Dwalin full out _glowers_ as Balin subtly questions Gandalf about if he's _sure_ he put the mark on the door, and the rest of the dwarves stand around in blatant confusion as to what is happening.

Gandalf is more than a little offended at Balin questioning him and his competence, but cannot offer any explanations as to why there is no home or burglar where they were supposed to have been. It is at this point, that things truly begin to deteriorate.

While Gandalf furrows his brow and deflects Balin's questions, the other dwarves begin to amass an understanding of the situation. When Fíli directly tells them all what is happening, the majority of them are not at all pleased.

Óin, Glóin, and Dori are disgruntled and slightly angry that they will not be receiving the food and place to sleep that they were promised. Dori joins Dwalin in glowering at the wizard, muttering about needing a bloody cup of tea or there'd be blood. Meanwhile Glóin unashamedly bellows negative comments are the entire affair to Óin, who ignores his brother in favour of glaring at Gandalf with Dori and Dwalin.

Bombur and Bofur are disappointed, and Bombur ends up sitting quietly and sadly betrayed by the Durin brothers while Bofur tries to cheer them all up with failing optimism. Kíli laughs at one of Bofur's jokes before his stomach rumbles again and any renewed good mood drops instantly. Fíli pats his younger brother on the back in sympathy, glaring unhappily towards Gandalf attempting to make explanations when he _clearly _doesn't have a clue what's going on or where their burglar might be.

Bifur seems to be displeased, more annoyed than anything, and curiously goes to poke at the glowing mark at the door at bit. The dwarf with an axe in his head seems to be willing to be patient about the matter, being of a, 'Well, that's unpleasant, but hey, that's life' mindset. It was probably a necessary mindset if you wanted to get through life with an axe embedded in your skull.

Ori, like Bombur, is quietly disappointed but is keeping himself occupied. The young scribe wonders whether or not he should be recording this considering their quest hasn't exactly started yet and this was _definitely _not the sort of beginning successful quests were made of. Actually, this whole affair seemed to be more reminiscent of a bad joke than the epic quest Ori had thought he'd be recording. He wants to record their quest to inspire awe, not to cause dwarves to break into laughter, like his brother was doing.

Nori, next to his little brother, just laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs until Dori seems to be torn between glaring at the middle Ri brother or at the wizard. The thief is the only dwarf who seems to find the situation absolutely hilarious, and tells Ori he'll explain why it's so funny if they ever live through this damn quest.

"Well," Gandalf harrumphs, "it is quite clear that our burglar is not at home at the moment."

"What home?" Fíli mutters, to the grunting agreement of the rest of the company.

"There is an inn not far from here where we shall be able to see out the night," Gandalf declares gruffly, his words sounding wise and final. "Things will all make more sense in the morning."

Many of the dwarves wish and would rather that things made sense now, or at least that Gandalf would explain things clearly, but dutifully follow Gandalf towards food and shelter with dubious, distrustful, disgruntled, and other generally dwarfish expressions.

* * *

Thorin Oakenshield was not a well-oriented dwarf when it came to directions. He knew this for a fact and had long ago accepted it, and had long ago been grudgingly forced to admit the fact aloud by his sister after a badly planned trip to a market that had not ended well for anyone involved, _including_ the incredibly unfortunate goat.

Thorin Oakenshield was also not a well-tempered dwarf when it came to... well, he wasn't exactly a well-tempered dwarf _at all_ really. The world seemed to have it in for him most of the time, or at least wanted to make him as miserable as possible otherwise. Thorin's life had not been a very easy or very pleasant one for some time now.

So... Thorin Oakenshield was living up to these two traits unintentionally but extremely well because a) he was lost, b) he was _very _lost, c) he was unhappy about it, and d) he was _very _unhappy about it.

Gandalf had said his halfling burglar's place would be easy to find, but it seemed only to be yet another of the wizard's many half-truths, lies, and lies by omission. No disrespect to the wizard, but this quest had started in earnest due to Gandalf's manipulations and it had set a tone of sorts to their working relationship for this quest so far that Thorin _did not_ like.

Another thing that Thorin Oakenshield was, was that he was a very proud dwarf. It _did not __**do**_ for a king to have to ask directions, and it _did not __**do**_ for a king to follow and let someone else read the map, damn it, Thorin, just _fucking ask for directions already, you arse of a king!_

The sensible thing to do, the part of his mind that sounded like Dís (which he ignored entirely) snapped, would be to ask one of the halflings where to find this 'Bag End'. However, it would be rude to impose on them so late, not that Thorin _cared _about that. He _would not_ lower himself to asking one of these... these... _food-growers_ for directions.

_Damn it all, Thorin! How are you going to rule a mountain if you can't __**find **__it?_ His 'Dís-thoughts' demanded, which he, again, ignored entirely. He _knew_ mountains, give him a mountain over these green fields and flowing rivers any day.

On the subject of rivers, the map that Balin had thrust upon him said there was only one river but it was clearly wrong since Thorin had crossed _at least _two. Balin had probably gotten the map from the wizard, damn Gandalf.

Eventually Thorin spots a large hill that seems to be 'The Hill' and sees a glowing mark that could have only been left by the wizard. Finally. Thank Mahal for that, maybe the wizard wouldn't be a _total_ incompetent and insane annoyance.

The only problem is that when he gets to the gate at the top of the hill, he realizes that there is no door or home or basic signs of habitation. There is only a glowing mark, and Dwalin waiting for him on a nearby bench with an eyebrow raised and a far too smug expression on his ugly bald mug.

"Took ya long enough," Dwalin says and Thorin scowls. Well... he scowls even deeper than he already had been.

"Where are the others?" Thorin demands.

"Gettin' a meal and rooms at the inn down the road," Dwalin says with a shrug, getting to his feet and stretching.

"I thought Gandalf's hobbit burglar was going to provide those," Thorin says after a while, glancing at the glowing mark.

"Can't find 'im."

Thorin stares at his friend, then at the mark, and after a few beats opens his mouth to speak and nothing comes out. He clears his throat and says, "What?"

Dwalin grins, a grin with far too many teeth. "The wizard met us sayin' he spoke to the burglar and put a mark on his door. Then he sent Fíli and Kíli ahead to make a good first impression."

_Senile_, Thorin thinks.

"Then we all show up, there's the mark and no door or burglar."

_Definitely senile_.

"What did the wizard say about that?" Thorin demands, hoping against better reason and history that there would be a good explanation for this.

"Doesn't seem to know what's happening either," Dwalin responds, eyeing Thorin with a look that clearly says that the warrior is waiting for an outburst of anger from his king. But to Dwalin's surprise, Thorin barks out a laugh.

"Should've expected something like this," Thorin says, shaking his head. "I'm not even that surprised." Then he lets out a bark of more near-hysterical laughter. "Mahal help me, what am I going to do when it turns out that Gandalf's burglar is imaginary?"

Dwalin stares, then says unhelpfully, "Dunno. You're the king. That's your problem."

Thorin glares at his old friend. "I will execute you someday for impertinence and being unduly irritating," he warns.

"As if you could," Dwalin scoffs, gesturing for Thorin to follow him to wherever the rest of the company is. "And if you start that, try your nephews first."

Thorin hums in agreement to that and follows his friend, and as they walk, Thorin's face quickly settles back into a scowl. This is an incredibly inconvenient setback. Not only will this hold back the quest if they cannot find their burglar, but now they'll have to pay for the food and lodgings Gandalf said his imaginary halfling burglar would be supplying them with.

This is a terrible start to the quest for their home. Not quite worst case scenario because Thorin was a cynical and pessimistic bastard (according to Dís) and his worst case scenarios could get unexpectedly _worse case scenario possible in ways you were even expecting_. However, he really hadn't been expecting the wizard to do something like this.

Damn Gandalf.

"Dwalin," Thorin growls, his stomach rumbling hungrily and his purse already feeling the pain of their food and lodgings for the night, "I was serious. _Do not_ let me hit the wizard. Even if his burglar is imaginary, _do not_ let me hit him."

"No assurances," Dwalin grunts.


	10. Do you know what I know?

_Disclaimer: I like to imagine that when hobbits totally saved Middle-Earth's collective butts, Yavanna basically went "HAH! IN YOUR FACE!" to all the other Valar, and then did victory dance that lasted for hours because her hobbits are awesome and now they have to admit it. _

_Of Mister Tolkien's works, I own nothing, and I am receiving no profit for this. _

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Do you know what I know?  
**

_In which the day tries to start normally but doesn't manage it, and hobbits question what the wizard and dwarves know, while the dwarves wonder what the wizard and hobbits know._

Hamfast Gamgee starts today as he starts everyday, at a time that most 'civilized' people would consider far too early to even exist much less be conscious. He's a man who likes to get up in time to greet the sun as it rises when most others would rather tell the sun to bugger off and come back in an hour or so.

Hamfast's wife, Bell, is one of the latter kind of people. She mumbles something as he pulls himself out of bed, then immediately takes what blankets he had for himself hostage with no hope for liberation. She's done it every morning for as long as they've been married and it never ceases to make Hamfast smile.

Most of his children seemed to take after their mother so far, and none of them will be up until Bell has started breakfast at the least. So Hamfast pulls on some old clothes and sturdy boots, and goes out to tend to his garden in the early morning light as the sun slowly begins to struggle over the horizon.

It's relaxing, calming, and he enjoys the quiet. It doesn't take long for Hamfast to fall into a routine his body knows better than he knows the back of his hand, his mind falling into a relaxed peace that allows him to work with blissful focus. When he looks up from his work next, drawn by the delicious smell of first breakfast, the sun had succeeded in its struggle to rise.

First breakfast is a mostly quiet and peaceful affair, as it is too early for the Gamgees besides Hamfast to do much except shuffle about and yawn every five minutes or so. It is second breakfast that will be louder and more rowdy as the children excitedly decide and discuss their plans for the rest of the day, and everyone is more awake.

Hamson and Halfred are more or less dead on their feet, as Halfred has already walked into his brother _and_ a wall, and May seems to eating in her sleep. Daisy and Samwise seem to become increasing awake as they eat, and Marigold is... oh... she has her head on the table and sounds to be snoring softly.

Hamfast pecks a kiss goodbye on his wife's cheek, telling her that he's going to go check on Bag End a little early today, and she nods and absentmindedly returns the kiss it as she directs the children to start tidying up. He knows she'll have them all sorted out by the time second breakfast rolls around, and she knows that Mister Baggins could do with someone checking in on him after yesterday.

Bag End isn't far, and Hamfast strolls down Bagshot Row with a spring in his step and a whistle on his lips. Usually he wouldn't leave quite so early, and usually his first stop would be The Green Dragon to hear any news or gossip and then the Post Office to hear any _more_ news or gossip (and also possibly pick up any packages), but he wants to check on how Bag End is doing before heading off on his usual morning errands.

He's not especially surprised that the smial still isn't there, as Mister Baggins wasn't a particularly easy riser. Hamfast decides he'll tend to the garden for awhile and if Bag End still stays Unnoticeable, then he'll head off to do his errands and come back later. But then he sees something odd that he'd hadn't paid attention to the other day.

Hamfast _is _rather surprised to see a strange symbol of some kind precisely where Bag End's door should be. He remembers it being there yesterday but not thinking much of it at the time, but now realizes that Mister Baggins couldn't have done it since he'd been indisposed for most of yesterday and it hadn't been there yesterday morning. It didn't seem like the sort of thing that Mister Baggins would do, really. Bag End's green door had been repainted just last week and somebody had seen fit to vandalize it!

Bag End wasn't a stranger to having things written on it, Holman Greenhand had told Hamfast awhile back, especially about twenty years ago when several derogatory statements had been written directed towards Mister Baggins and Mister Baggins's knack. If Hamfast got his hands on the troublesome hobbits who'd started this nonsense up again, then he'd have more than a few things to say to them.

Really! The door had been painted _last week_! Hamfast scowls in such disapproving anger at the mark that it is actually surprising that the mark doesn't disappear out of pure fear.

Now this just wouldn't_ do_ at all.

* * *

Adelard Goodchild had run the Green Dragon for as long as he could remember. The inn might have been owned mostly by Mad Baggins but it was Adelard and his family who'd kept this inn running and the customers pouring in, so he felt it was his inn just as much as any Baggins's and to his delight, the last two Bagginses had agreed with him. Bungo, and now Bilbo, had been more than happy to mostly stay out of the inn's business save to lend a hand when it came to the accounting and procuring the best produce and ale for the inn.

It was a system that had worked for them so far, and they liked it well enough. The Green Dragon was Adelard and his family's pride and joy, and running an inn and tavern meant constant new people and new stories, enough so that you'd never get bored.

The people and the stories he'd been hearing as of yesterday evening, however, had not been ones he'd liked.

Adelard did not like dwarves. His inn mostly serviced hobbits visiting family that didn't have enough room for them, merchants (mostly hobbits, men, and the _occasional _dwarf), bounders on bounder business, and Rangers on Ranger business. He was not especially fanatical about a dwarf customer in the singular, but they were usually quiet and paid their bills, but dwarves plural made him want to tear out what hair he had left.

_These_ dwarves made him want to set his inn on fire just so they'd leave.

They'd eaten half of what remained of the inn's pantry (which had been running a little low, but _still_), drunk a damn of a dent into his ale supply, and most of them seemed to be terribly angry about something while the rest were boisterously rowdy, and they all had manners that would make a hobbit matron scream. Customer service had been close to being delivered with violence when they'd come in last night and this morning didn't look to be any better for anyone.

But the strange thing was was that the grey wizard was with them, and had been making several enquiries to anyone who sat still long enough or couldn't get away about Bilbo Baggins. It was... highly suspicious. So all of Adelard's staff and patrons hadn't answered the questions with anything more than vagueness with a side of impenetrable false ignorance, of course.

Mad Bilbo Baggins had had an incident yesterday that had left him indisposed and his home unreachable. And then the same day, much later, a party of thirteen dwarves and the wandering wizard come looking for him, and neither the wizard nor the dwarves had given a reason why? Definitely suspicious.

Unfortunately for their secrecy, this was the Shire, home to the nosiest beings on all of Middle Earth, and they were in a pub. Adelard liked Mad Baggins, he was a skinny young thing but a smart one and a good hobbit to do business with, and he'd be damned if he left his investor to the mercy of whatever these dwarves wanted.

So he'd told his staff, waitresses and barkeep, that the first one to find out why the dwarves were here and what they wanted with Bilbo Baggins would get a raise. Several ales, a momentary instance of name confusion ("_Who_? No, there's no Mister Boggins in Hobbiton"), a bit of flirting by the waitresses, a little Unnoticeable eavesdropping, and about two hours later, his staff had had their raises and he had had his answer.

And he hadn't liked it.

But by the time morning came around, Bag End and it's owner were still out of service and didn't look to be coming around soon. So around second breakfast, Adelard turned to his son, and said, "Anson, get the Gaffer."

* * *

Bilbo blinked. "Sorry, _what_?"

He'd been having such a not-so-bad morning before Hamfast had come knocking on his still Unnoticeable door (imperceptible or not, the door had still been _there_) wringing his hands and with a worried expression yet _again_.

His morning had still been _not-so-bad_ when Hamfast had hurried him out the door to the Green Dragon and sneaked him in through the back door into one of the Green Dragon's back rooms. Even though the only explanation Bilbo had received at the time was that Adelard urgently needed to speak with him about something important.

"There's a group of thirteen dwarves and a wizard eating breakfast in my inn who're off on some fool quest and think the wizard's hired you as their 'burglar'," Adelard bluntly states _again_, and behind him, Hamfast is nervously wringing his hands.

Bilbo stares at the inn keeper and then at his gardener, and then back at Adelard. His expression is nearly entirely blank, with only the faintest expression of disbelief and discontent.

"No," he says.

Then the gentle-hobbit stands up and walks over to the wall, just so he can thump his curly-haired head against it twice. Then Bilbo shakes his head, pinches himself on the arm, and walks back over to sit down again.

"Right," Bilbo says completely normally, as though the last ten seconds hadn't happened, "say that again, please."

"The grey wizard and thirteen dwarves are off on some mad quest and the wizard has them thinking that he's hired you as a professional burglar for their quest," Adelard explains again, looking slightly exasperated but _very _understanding.

Bilbo stares at the inn keeper some more, his eyes flickering up to Hamfast who is still wringing his hands in nervousness.

"But that's completely mad," Bilbo says, finally.

"Yeah," Adelard agrees candidly.

"I've never stolen a thing in- okay, that's not true. But I'm not a burglar," Bilbo firmly insists. "Not unless you count stealing from the cookie jar or pranking my cousins. I'm no burglar and _certainly_ not a professional one!"

"We know that, Mister Baggins, sir," Hamfast pipes up in assurance.

Bilbo nods in thanks. "I told the wizard _yesterday _that I wasn't interested in any _bloody_ ad... _adventures_!" Bilbo exclaims, anger building in his tone. "Did he just completely ignore me when I told him '_no, thank you, go try somewhere else_'?"

Adelard harrumphs. "Seems so," he says, while Hamfast scowls behind him.

"_Bloody hills_," Bilbo moans, anger forgotten in the face of the current reality of thirteen dwarves eating second breakfast (their first and apparently only breakfast of the day, actually) in Adelard's dining room. "So they showed up here last night?"

"They tried to go to Bag End first," Adelard reveals.

Bilbo crosses his eyes attempting to remember if anything strange had happened last night, and then imagines dwarves trying to find an imperceptible Unnoticeable Bag End.

"Oh dear," the gentle-hobbit says.

"The _wizard_," Hamfast spits out, practically snarling 'wizard' like it was a disgusting word, "told the _dwarves_ that food and room would be _provided_ by the 'burglar'."

"Mmm, so they sure as the hills haven't been happy with the wizard when they came in, not having got either," Adelard grunts.

Bilbo sputters at this new information. "H-he expected me to feed _thirteen dwarves_ with no warning or agreement from _me_? _What_?"

"Seems so," Adelard says again, shrugging his shoulders. "The dwarves ain't happy with the wizard or the 'burglar' about the wizard's burglar not providing what the wizard said he would."

"Oh dear," Bilbo says lamely, his expression thoughtful. "I suppose they rather would be."

And it's true that Bilbo can easily suppose that these thirteen strangers would be unhappy that they had not received the food and board that Gandalf had promised them even when he should not have and was not able to promise. That would be somewhat upsetting.

"Mister Baggins, sir!" Hamfast protests. "You can't be feelin' sympathy for them!"

"Of course I can," Bilbo replies easily, brushing aside his gardener's protests with a careless wave of his hand. "This appears to be a large and rather upsetting misunderstanding. It is not their fault and nor is it mine that Gandalf _lied_ to them."

Thinking about the situation, Gandalf truly did outright lie to the dwarves if what Adelard and Hamfast were saying was true. That did not seem particularly appropriate for a wizard, in Bilbo's opinion, and nor was it particularly admirable.

"True enough," Adelard agrees gruffly, while Hamfast still frowns in discontent.

Bilbo stands up and straights his clothing. "I should speak with them to clear everything up, and I believe that is what I will do," Bilbo declares, running a hair through his curly hair as though that will somehow improve its appearance. "At the very least they are deserving of an explanation and the truth. Adelard, I will be paying their bill."

Adelard and Hamfast blink in shock.

"You maybe don't want to do that," Adelard says slowly. "The dwarves drink and eat _a lot_."

"I can well afford it," Bilbo responds airily. "And from the sound of the wizard's plan, I would have been paying for them anyway. It's the least that I can do for them considering that I don't imagine Gandalf will be footing their bill for this inconvenience in their... quest. Adelard, I have some very nice wines from last year's stock, from one of the Pritchards' vineyards, would that be acceptable as payment?"

"Ye~es," Adelard agrees, "but-"

"Good, talk to Asphodel Pritchard and she'll set you up," Bilbo says, in a tone that left room for few arguments and less objections. "Are they in the main room? It's around time for second breakfast, I believe. I'll go speak to them and explain everything."

Bilbo, of course, does not want to speak with dwarves to tell them that the wizard _lied_ about him being a burglar or hiring him for their quest. But _someone_ needs to tell the dwarves the truth about what's going on, and it might as well be him. He was dressed but his hair was a mess and he probably looked like shite, not that the dwarves would care, but he could damn well steel himself to deal with them now rather than later.

"Mister Baggins, sir, wait!" Hamfast called, halting Bilbo as the gentle-hobbit moved towards the door.

Turning back around fully, Bilbo realized that Hamfast had a nervous expression on his face again and Adelard was... also looking nervous. The tough and gruff inn keeper rarely looked as worried as he did now and it made Bilbo worried as well.

"What is it, Hamfast?" Bilbo asked, trying to decipher both their expressions.

"Don't... don't you get think it's a bit... odd...?" Hamfast articulates awkwardly. "...That the wizard picked _you_ to be their burglar?"

_Huh. _

Well, when Bilbo thought about it, actually, it didn't seem odd to him at all.

"Not particularly," Bilbo admits thoughtfully. "He used to be acquainted with my mother and I knew him as a small fauntling, which I suppose has made him think he has some sort of hold on me and my decisions or some sort of understanding of me. I'm part Took, and I'm a bachelor, and, well... me. There are-"

"_Exactly,_" Adelard interrupts, looking more serious and concerned than worried now.

Bilbo startles. "Pardon?"

"The wizard just _happened_ to pick the hobbit with the best damn knack in the entire Shire?" Adelard says, an eyebrow raised in apparent disbelief.

_Oh_.

_Oh, no. _

Bilbo returns to where he had been sitting before and seats himself again, internally attempting to calm his racing heart and fractured thoughts.

"You-" Bilbo begins, but has to halt to clear his throat before he tries again, "You think they... that they _know_?" He looks between the old inn keeper and his gardener, and he is not reassured by their expressions.

_Oh, no_.

"I don't even know if the wizard knows," Adelard grunts. "Wouldn't be surprised if he has an idea, but I don't know how secret he'd keep that idea. I just think that the whole damn thing is bloody_ suspicious_ business."

"You're worried that the dwarves know," Bilbo says weakly, just to clarify.

Hamfast and Adelard both nod solemnly and Bilbo is having difficultly pulling the fractured thought threads into coherent thoughts that will allow him to discover a course of action. Would the wizard have told the dwarves about Unnoticeable knacks? How would the wizard have enough known about Unnoticeable knacks?

"I'll speak to them," Bilbo croaks out, and clearing his throat again, he elaborates, "If they want me because of my knack then it shouldn't be too hard to find out, and I have to speak with them anyway. I'll... find out what they know."

Adelard relaxes slightly, making Bilbo realize how tensely worried the inn keeper had been, and Hamfast looks relieved but still concerned.

"Thanks, Baggins," Adelard says. "You're not alone, though. Remember that."

Bilbo nodded in thanks. Since it was not a particularly good day for Bilbo, a sarcastic part of his hindbrain offered more than a few responses to that which argued to the opposite. But his forebrain reminded him that the Shire did watch out for its own in the face of outside threats, and Adelard did not deserve to have Bilbo's anger and other negative feelings taken out on him.

"What are you going to do if they _do _know?" Hamfast asks worriedly, then immediately looks ashamed at the thoughtlessness of his question.

Bilbo opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then he looked directly at his gardener and friend, revealing all of his tiredness and exhaustion and hurt just by his helpless expression as he tried not to think of a rainy day and the unseeing eyes of child snatchers.

"I don't know, Hamfast," Bilbo says wearily. "I... I... really don't know."

For a long moment between the three hobbits, there is silence.

"Well," Adelard said finally. "Let us hope it never comes to that, then."

* * *

"The wizard _still _hasn't explained what happened to his burglar, Balin," Thorin growled. "Are we supposed to abandon our quest to wait for Gandalf's imaginary halfling to miraculously reappear?"

"Peace, Thorin," Balin reprimanded calmly. "It's not yet noon. Give the wizard a while longer and eat. These sausages are quite delightful."

Of course, Balin was as equally concerned as Thorin on the subject of their burglar. Nothing of this situation had so far made any sense whatsoever and not having the burglar that Gandalf had promised them would be detrimental to their quest. And even if they did not _need _the wizard's burglar for their quest, this was a _terrible_ and rather _demoralizing_ beginning to it.

Thorin merely glared at his adviser and friend and then down at his meal, only half-eaten. "These halflings know _nothing _of hardship," Thorin said, constantly discontent. "They call this meal '_second breakfast'_. Why the wizard believes that one of these gluttonous _food-growers_ would be of any use to our quest, I cannot understand even if I were to attempt to suspend my disbelief."

Balin sighed. "We gathered in haste for this quest," he reminds Thorin. "Our preparations left us little time to be hunting for burglars. We would have trusted Gandalf to find one for us even if the wizard had not had one in mind for us before we asked. The wizard vouched for this halfling burglar and we must place our faith with the wizard."

"The faith I have placed in _Tharkûn_ has not been rewarded yet so far," Thorin says, stabbing his food rather forcefully. "We have not seen hide nor hair of the wizard's supposed burglar, and the halflings tell us so little of the burglar that we know less of him than when we started."

"True," Balin admitted grudgingly.

The halflings had been less than helpful with giving any information on Gandalf's 'Master Baggins' or Baggins' home, and both he and even Nori had been unable to discover anything on where the mysterious burglar might be. These beardless beings, halflings, were polite creatures but unfailingly distant, and could hem and hedge around a subject with mind-numbing obliviousness.

"And," Thorin continued, eager to continue having had Balin concede a point, "Nori has told me that he suspects the halflings not only know more than they are letting on, but that they are up to something that concerns us. Twice now has he witnessed halflings running from this place with worried expressions, and you cannot deny that the halflings observe our actions with sharp and shrewd wariness despite their obtuse manner."

Both dwarves looked around the large dining room from the table they sat at in the corner, empty except for the inn staff and the members of their company. Several members of their company were enjoying the delicious hobbit food and laughing loudly, in a far better mood having been fed and having rested. The halfling servers smiled kindly at the Company members, but the kindness and good will did not reach their eyes.

This second point was also true, Balin had to admit, as he too had noticed the way the halflings all seemed to watch their company out of the corners of their eyes. They were all incredibly discreet about it, but the feeling of being observed prickled at his neck all the same. They knew something, Balin agreed.

"Then let us place our faith in the wizard _for now_," Balin said, ignoring Thorin's snort. "Let us trust in him to discover the mystery of the burglar and what the halflings keep from us. Instead we must turn our thoughts towards other matters, such as _how we will enter the mountain_."

Sullenly, Thorin turned his full attention back to Balin. "There is more than one way into our home, despite the sealed front entrance that you so often remind me of. We _will _find a way," Thorin insists fiercely.

"You know how well our people hide the hidden ways into our homes," Balin reminds his king. "Whatever other ways there are, it will not be a simple matter to discover them again."

Thorin opens his mouth to reply when the sound of someone clearing their throat _right next to their table_ distracted him and Balin both. They both looked towards the source of the sound to see a halfling standing _right next to the table_, the halfling's approach noticed by neither of them.

"Ah," the halfling says reflexively under the intense stares of wariness and disbelief from the dwarf pair, "Erm... good morning."

"We require nothing at this time," Thorin informs the halfling coldly, clearly unhappy at being taken by surprise. "Be on your way, halfling."

The halfling stiffens slightly at the Durin's cold tone but does not retreat, which is curious. He is thinner than the majority of halflings that they have met so far, and he carried himself with a great maturity and confidence for his youthful appearance. Intrigued, Balin watches the halfling regard his king with calm patience.

"I am afraid I cannot be 'on my way', Master Dwarf," the halfling replies in a friendly manner that Balin can tell Thorin instantly dislikes. "For you see, _I_ have business with _you _concerning your ad... quest."

Now it is Thorin who tenses, and the Durin straightens in his seat as the halfling continues to give them both a friendly smile – which is the best mask Balin has ever seen because he cannot tell whether or not the halfling means the smile but knows that Thorin is not one to inspire friendliness – and introduces himself.

"Bilbo Baggins, at your service. May I have but a moment of your time?"

* * *

Bilbo is doing his utmost _not _to throw up on the table in front of him. His palms are sweaty and the smile on his face is so fake that he thinks he's losing feeling in his face. But he is determined that these dwarves will not know how _sick _and how _nervous _he feels.

If he could survive Baggins family dinner parties then he _would_ survive a conversation with these dwarves. No matter how many times he ends up being called a 'halfling'.

The dwarf with the white beard continues to say nothing and merely looks at Bilbo with faint curiosity, but his darker-haired companion relaxes back into his chair and _sneers_.

"So this is _the_ 'Hobbit'," the dwarf says, almost conversationally.

Bilbo can hear the faint mocking to the dwarf's tone that suggests things have been said about Bilbo that Bilbo does not live up to. And he can also hear the condescending disrespect around the name that his people _chose _for themselves so they would not have to be referred to as 'halflings', as though they were less than or only half of a person.

He _will not _make a rude remark, he has dealt with Lobelia without being rude many times, he _will not _be rude to this manner-less _arse_ of a dwarf.

"Tell me, Mr. Baggins," the dwarf continues, "do you have much experience fighting?"

_What in the bloody hills does that have to do with this conversation? _

"Pardon me?" Bilbo says, confused but maintaining his friendly smile all the same. He needs to know what _exactly _these dwarves know about him and if they know anything of Unnoticeable knacks, he cannot antagonize them _no matter how much they antagonize him_. The parts of their conversation that he had overheard before he had brought attention to himself had revealed far too little.

"Axe or sword?" The dwarf demands. "What's your weapon of choice?"

"Neither of those, I'm afraid," Bilbo replies with false cheer, determined to get the conversation back where he wants to it to be. "I'm afraid I fail to see why that's relevant to this discussion though."

The dwarf, who Bilbo is considering privately dubbing 'Manner-less Arse' as a name of sorts, stares at Bilbo with somehow even more condescension and disrespect than before. "Thought as much," the dwarf declares, then says to his companion, "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

_ You act more like a pig than a person, _ Bilbo thinks, his lie of a smile glued uncomfortably in place on his face. _ No wonder nobody actually likes dwarves when you're around to give your people such a shining reputation _.

To Bilbo's inner dismay, the white-bearded dwarf chuckles as though his companion's careless insulting – and Bilbo _ knows _that was meant as a insult – of a complete stranger is both humorous and acceptable.

"Well, that is amusing," Bilbo says with the same false cheer and fake smile _ that is beginning to make his face hurt. _ "May I discuss the business I came here to speak with you about now or should this _ apparent grocer _ leave you to your meal?"

Finally, the white-bearded dwarf speaks. "Balin, son of Fundin, at your service, and this is Thorin, son of Thrain. Pull up a chair, Master Baggins," he says, ignoring the unimpressed expression of the other dwarf. "We have much business to discuss."

"Thank you," Bilbo replies, and moves to bring another chair over to the dwarves table. Once he is seated, a long scroll is more or less thrust into his face before he can even open his mouth, and his smile drops. He only catches a few words as he lets his eyes roam over the words on the scroll in bewilderment, but he does not like the words that he manages to catch.

_L_ _acerations ... evisceration … incineration... what in the bloody hills? _

"Now Gandalf told us that you must have had business that meant you were unable to meet with us yesterday evening," Balin says quietly but quickly, "but the wizard did not tell what details he'd told you of the quest or of your hiring. This is the employment contract we're offering; the usual summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, and so forth."

"Funeral arrangements?" Bilbo repeats in what he would like to believe was _not _a squeak and decidedly ignores the amused snort from the darker-haired dwarf.

_What kind of 'adventure' did you sign me up for without my permission, Gandalf? _

"I'm sorry," Bilbo says, tearing his eyes from what he's pretty sure says something about the profit he would receive _if any _profit was actually received. "But there's been a terrible misunderstanding. Gandalf _did not _hire me for _any _'quest'. The wizard spoke to me about going on an ad... adventure _yesterday morning _and I_ refused_."

Both dwarves stare at Bilbo in total surprise, they are equally stunned completely silent. Their evident shock encourages Bilbo to continue before he loses his nerve or the pitiful breakfast he'd had before Hamfast dragged him out the door.

"From what I understand," Bilbo explains, "the wizard told you that he had hired me as your burglar but he really did _no such thing_. The only offer I received on the matter was _yesterday _and _I said no._"

Thorin, the dark-haired dwarf, makes a strangled sound that Bilbo does not care to properly interpret and Balin, the white-bearded dwarf, has a pained expression on his face that Bilbo knows far too well.

"I have heard that your company arrived in the Shire expecting me to provide food and shelter, and I'm sorry for the inconvenience but I had no idea that I was meant to be expecting _anyone at all_," Bilbo tells them earnestly. "I was _told nothing_ by the wizard and _agreed to nothing _that he offered. I'm terribly sorry, but you have the wrong hobbit if you're looking for a burglar for your quest."

After Bilbo finishes, neither dwarf says anything. Thorin is glaring at his plate and Balin has his eyes shut as the white-bearded dwarf pinches his nose.

"Erm... sorry," Bilbo offers again.

"Balin," the dark-haired dwarf, Thorin, rumbles as he rises menacingly from his chair. "I need to go have a _discussion _with our wizard about how seriously he's taking this quest."

And with that statement, the dark-haired dwarf storms off and out of the dining room presumably to find and _discuss _some things with the grey wizard.

"I really am sorry about all this," Bilbo tells the white-bearded dwarf, Balin, who has not risen from his seat.

Balin opens his eyes and smiles kindly. "It's not your fault, laddie," he says. "It was good of you to bring this to our attention like this. I cannae imagine what would have happened had we managed to find your home last night."

"Neither can I," Bilbo admits. "I have no idea why Gandalf chose me as your burglar when I'm sure there are plenty of better-suited candidates who would more readily agree. I imagine you'll want this contract back, then."

"Ah, yes."

Bilbo returns the contract to Balin, who rolls it back up, and for another awkward moment, neither of them says anything.

_Here goes nothing_.

"I have to admit that I am curious, however," Bilbo begins cautiously, "as to what Gandalf might have said about me. Do you happen to know why Gandalf might have believed that I was the best candidate to be your quest's burglar?"

Balin regards Bilbo with renewed curiosity. "No, I don't," he informs Bilbo. "Gandalf only said that halflings were light on their feet and... ah... a halfling might be the best choice for what we needed of our burglar."

_That did not sound good_.

"Oh?" Bilbo asks as subtly nonchalantly as he can. "And what was that, may I ask?"

"I cannae say, Master Baggins," Balin says slightly wary. "Since you won't be joining us on our quest, laddie, it would be best if you did not know much of it."

Bilbo nods understandingly. "Oh, of course," he agrees cheerfully. "I was merely asking because I thought that I might be able to suggest someone for your quest in my place. I truly am sorry that I'm inconveniencing you so, you see."

Looking at Balin now, Bilbo quickly realized that he would likely not get any information out of the white-bearded dwarf. Here was a shrewd and wily mind, as evidenced by how Balin had been the one to hold and start explaining the long contract that Bilbo had seen. This was _extremely inconvenient _to Bilbo, and he personally doubted that he'd have much luck approaching any of the other dwarves either.

"If you'd let me," Bilbo remarks, smiling somewhat nervously, "I'd like to make it up to you."

"Oh, there's no need for that, laddie," Balin assures.

"No, no," Bilbo insists, wondering how long he can keep smiling like this when all he really wants to do is follow the dark-haired dwarf to go kick Gandalf in the shins. "It really wouldn't do for your company to visit the Shire without experiencing the hobbit hospitality and meal that you were promised. I may not have room for thirteen to stay in my home, but I certainly have the means to feed them and you _were_ promised a meal that _I _was meant to provide."

Balin stared, considering, and Bilbo took a deep breath.

"I'd like to invite your company over for dinner tonight."

* * *

_A/N: To annea101: No, there is unfortunately not a side story with Bilbo's time in Rivendell. Fortunately however, Bilbo's time in Rivendell is going to be quite important, and several characters and anecdotes from that time will be making appearances. Should I feel like writing that when I finish this, I can see myself writing an abridged series of one-shots from that time. I wouldn't bet on it though.  
_


	11. Preparations and Confrontations

_Disclaimer: Guys, I've run some tests. I'm not J.R.R. Tolkien. I know, I was really disappointed too. _

_Of Mister Tolkien's works, I own nothing, and I am receiving no profit for this. _

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Preparations and Confrontations  
**

_In which a dinner party does not take place, but is being prepared for. _

_Bilbo demands answers from a wizard, and a wizard demands answers from Bilbo._

Fortunately for Bilbo's stress levels, Balin accepts the invitation on behalf of the _entire _Company _including _Gandalf. So even if Bilbo can't find out _exactly _what they all know before the dinner and throughout dinner courses, at least he'll be able to confront them all at once and possibly follow the plan that Adelard suggested if it turns out they _did _know.

Eru, does Bilbo hope they _do not know_. He does not even want to think about what will happen if they _do_. What will the dwarves do with the knowledge? How will it be ensured that they_ will not_ share that knowledge? Did the wizard _even think _before he threw the entire Shire to the mercy of thirteen dwarves?

Not for the first time that day, Bilbo curses Gandalf with every foul word that he knows and wishes that the grey wizard were easier to find. He needed to speak with the tall being on _what exactly _Gandalf told the dwarves and how much they all might know.

How the wizard managed to disappear in a place where everybody's business was everybody else's business and he was about three feet taller than the average local was beyond Bilbo. _Where _the wizard had gone or _why _the wizard had disappeared was even more of a mystery.

Perhaps that dark-haired arse of a dwarf had yelled the wizard into hiding? That seemed reasonably plausible, though wizards are likely not beings that are easily cowed or influenced by the shouting of the irate people of Middle Earth they annoy or manipulate.

_Perhaps that was why there were so few wizards then,_ Bilbo found himself musing as he walked on (though he knew his musings were neither true nor very possible), _all but the most stubborn of them decided Middle Earth was a lost cause._

* * *

A little before lunch, Bilbo gives up. He has not been able to find the wizard, which is both stressful and worrying, and has yet to discover to what extent the dwarves may or may not know about hobbit knacks. But as he's invited all those dwarves and Gandalf to dinner, he'll have to pull Gandalf aside during dinner (which will not be the act of a respectable host, but he'd _really _rather not break out _that _bottle of wine) and confront the wizard then.

So Bilbo tells Hamfast and Adelard to spread the word that he's looking to speak with the grey wizard and, after a few other stops, eventually returns to Bag End to begin cooking for _thirteen dwarves_, one hobbit, and possibly a wizard. Feeding _fifteen _is no easy task and how Gandalf thought Bilbo was supposed to manage it without any warning is constantly on the back-burner of Bilbo's mind whilst he chops up vegetables and sets baked goods out to cool.

Aunt Mirabella's luncheon yesterday had apparently gone terribly without him, as Bilbo had expected it would and had been_ repeatedly_ informed it had by a very displeased Mirabella. He'd visited after failing to find Gandalf to apologize to her, and ended up apologizing again as again as Mirabella recounted occurrences of increasingly disturbing events. By the end of the disastrous affair, she had two of her thoroughly-scolded and shamefaced sons (Saradas and Dodinas) removing cutlery from the _ceiling_.

(Bilbo_ did not_ ask how tea spoons and butter knives ended up _embedded_ in the _ceiling_.)

What had been even worse than Mirabella's stern displeasure had been his cousin Primula's face of sad disappointment that he _knew _she was giving him on purpose – and then _Drogo's _face (because Drogo and Primula were never too far apart these days) of _brokenhearted wistfulness –_ because somewhere along the line, Bilbo had been unofficially appointed the person meant to ensure the Bagginses and Brandybucks stopped _whatever confusing negative relationship they had_ long enough for the lovebirds to get married.

And since Primula's sad eyes made him feel like he'd just kicked a puppy, and Drogo's sad eyes made him feel like he'd just kicked _two _puppies _off a cliff, _Bilbo had somehow had the two young lovers foisted off on him for the afternoon to make it up to them.

Officially, Primula and Drogo were both helping out their older cousin prepare dinner for the thirteen dwarves giving Adelard Goodchild a nervous twitch. What was actually happening was Bilbo and Bell Goodchild-Gamgee (who was an _absolute blessing _like all Gamgees are, Bilbo will kick anyone who says otherwise in the shins, and _volunteered _to help and _has not_ asked Bilbo any nosy questions about dwarves or his disappearance yesterday) were doing most of the work while Drogo and Primula made sappy expressions at each other while feeding each other bits of whatever they were making. Two of Bell's children, Samwise and Marigold were playing with some of Bilbo's old toys in the parlour.

"What a wonderful thing young love is, isn't it, Mister Baggins?" Bell says cheerily as Drogo wipes chocolate away from a corner of Primula's mouth and Primula giggles as she immediately replaces the chocolate. Yavanna bless them, they've been 'working' on the same dish for the past hour.

With an eye on his cousins as he searches for the right spice and pointedly ignoring the 'special' bottle of wine that Adelard had pressed upon him, Bilbo isn't sure whether or not he's doing this chaperoning business right and tells Bell so.

"My parents died before explaining most of this courting business to me," Bilbo explains. "I was never much for the idea and far too young for '_chaperoning_' to be any sort of relevance to me since I was expected to be the one needing it. I'm still expected to be the one needing it, actually." _That brings up unpleasant thoughts._ "Urgh. Most of my experience with courting revolves around running away from it and no one's actually trusted me to chaperone their children before now. I'm usually too busy trying to keep the parents from declaring war."

"Still some determined hobbit misses, Mister Baggins?" Bell asks, and grins knowingly as Bilbo makes an exaggerated (not _that _exaggerated) expression of pain. "Cheer up, Mister Baggins, you'll meet a special person sooner or later."

"I'd settle for not unfailingly '_coincidentally meeting_' the '_not-special_' ones every time I go to the market," Bilbo drawls, and Bell giggles. "If there's some signal that goes up that lets Wilcome Harfoot know when I've gone to get my groceries, then I wouldn't at all be surprised."

Bell snatches a spice out of Bilbo's hand and adds some to the dish she's working on. "So some determined hobbit misters then too, Mister Baggins?"

"More of both than I'd like," Bilbo replies honestly.

"It's a hardship that eligible bachelors like yourself must bear, Mister Baggins," Bell says, very seriously. "It's well known that every well-off and respectable gentle-hobbit wants a partner, no matter how much they protest." She leans in to whisper conspiratorially. "It's just them playing hard to get, you see."

Bilbo scowls at her and she giggles again as she returns the spice she'd taken.

"It's a hard life you lead, Mister Baggins, being so well-off and sought after by so many hobbits."

"I know... it's truly terrible."

"I don't know how you keep going day by day, Mister Baggins."

"My dear Madam Gamgee, it is a chore beyond words."

Bell wrinkled her nose. "Don't be calling me that, Mister Baggins, you're making me sound like I'm Hamfast's grandmother."

"I know."

For that, Bell swats him on the knuckles with a mixing spoon. "I'm not her, Mister Baggins. That terrifying woman is a public menace," Bell says, wielding her spoon ferociously, as Bilbo sucks his knuckles.

"So are you with that spoon," Bilbo replies. "_Ow_."

Bell smiles smugly and goes back to what she was doing, while Bilbo surveys what they've accomplished so far with pride. His pantry may be more than half depleted already, and will be completely depleted by the time they're through, but there'll certainly be enough to feed thirteen dwarves when they're done.

Bilbo turns to tell Drogo and Primula that they'll break for afternoon tea soon, and that they should cease their game of wiping chocolate off each other faces that's been going on for the past few minutes, and sighs.

He may be utter shite at this chaperoning thing but he knows for certain they're not supposed to be doing _that_.

"Not again," he mutters. Then reaches for the nearby basket of potatoes and whips one across the kitchen, smacking Drogo in the side of the face. He's learnt over the course of today that words are worth little when it comes to getting through to his young cousins.

"Hey!" Drogo yelps, rubbing the side of his face as Primula openly glares.

"If you can't make cookies without keeping chocolate off your faces, use your handkerchiefs to wipe it off," Bilbo reprimands, hands on his hips. "There's no need to use your tongue, nor for it to take five or more minutes. That's really just unsanitary _and_ inefficient."

Bell smothers a chuckle as Drogo blushes and Primula just continues glaring.

"And pick up the potato, please," Bilbo tells the couple, turning away to place his dish in the oven to start cooking. "We'll be taking afternoon tea in about five minutes."

"I think you have this chaperoning business well in hand, Mister Baggins," Bell whispers as Primula sullenly works on actually making cookies, glaring at her elder cousin, and Drogo, red-faced, searches for the lost potato.

Bilbo smiles to himself. "I think so too," he says. "Now, let's see if there's anything in the pantry that we can spare for afternoon tea..."

* * *

It is not long after afternoon tea that there is a knock on the door. Bilbo straightens and wipes his hands on a nearby towel, noticing as he does so that Drogo and Primula yet again look like they're about to attempt fusing their faces. He has no idea why they keep trying to make themselves Unnoticeable every time they try, because since he can feel their Unnoticeable-ness (which they don't know but you'd think they'd learn to recognize a bloody pattern) it's a dead giveaway and Bilbo's knack for Noticing things is probably one of the best in the Shire.

Bilbo sighs. "I am reaching for a potato. I am very seriously reaching for a potato," he says loudly, doing no such thing – and watches as Drogo squeaks, attempts to duck, and topples off his chair.

Bell walks back into the kitchen with Mari on her hip and Sam at her side to find Drogo sprawled at her feet and Primula torn between laughing hysterically and glaring at Bilbo but mostly just laughing hysterically.

"I leave my cousins in your capable hands, Madam Gamgee," Bilbo says.

"Right," Bell says, still staring bewildered at Drogo on the floor. As Bilbo exits the kitchen to answer the door, he hears her tell Samwise to fetch some ice for the poor lad and a glass of water for the laughing young lady.

He's in a rather good mood, actually. Dinner for fifteen is well underway, he's fairly certain he has this chaperoning thing down, and he's managed to pointedly ignore the bottle of wine Adelard gave him that he's _very much trying not to think about_. On one hand, the entire Shire was being potentially threatened by whatever thirteen dwarves did or did not know, but on the other hand, there were plans in place for several scenarios and he didn't have to deal with any of them _right exactly this second_.

Then Bilbo opened the door.

His first thought is '_oh shite_'.

His second thought, after taking in the scene, is '_but this is good, right?_'

His third thought, in reply to the second, is '_supposedly, but I really, really don't want to have to do this and would have preferred to put it off until after the next side of never_'.

"Good afternoon, Mister Bilbo!" Oleandra Millwater says, her brown and freckled face beaming up at him. "I found you Mister Gandalf! I heard you were looking for 'im!"

_Yay_.

He will, he decides, just ignore the Gandalf's look of bemusement and curiosity as the wizard looms over both hobbits, blocking out a great deal of the sun that would be shining through Bag End's smial door and his shins being all generally tempting to kick repeatedly.

"That's... wonderful, Olly," Bilbo says kindly to the teen girl. "Thank you very much for your assistance."

Olly ("_Oleandra is a mouthful, Mister Baggins!_") hadn't given up on her hero worship of him. At first, Bilbo had been worried that it had been a crush of some sort which _he really didn't want to have to deal with_, but it had turned out that she didn't want to marry him, she wanted to _be him_. Well, she wanted to be _herself_, but she wanted to be herself that was the next mad adventurer and the best archer in the Shire with an amazing knack (although her natural knack wasn't more than slightly above average, she worked at building the skill like the world would end if she didn't and soaked up any tips Bilbo sent her way).

And the little hobbit was nothing if not determined, so she challenged Bilbo to archery contests and whenever they encountered each other, she'd follow him around. If he was going to the market, she'd carry some of his groceries. If he was walking in the woods, she'd tag along. If he needed some errands run, she'd be the first fauntling to volunteer. And every time they'd chat about far off places and tips on being Unnoticeable and she'd tell him about all the places she was going to go as soon as she came of age.

And apparently she also tracked down and dragged back disappearing wizards when Bilbo said he'd like to have a word with them.

"Good afternoon, Master Gandalf," Bilbo extends politely to the wizard, and then, unable to help himself... "And before you ask, I mean it entirely as a polite greeting, although it could potentially have any other meanings should you wish to give them."

Gandalf smiles and raises an eyebrow. "Good afternoon, indeed, Master Baggins. Although much longer and good evening might have been more appropriate. You are a very _difficult _hobbit to find, young Bilbo."

Bilbo gives the grey wizard a vague smile in return, telling himself that it is truly inadvisable to be either violent or disrespectful to a wizard. He also reminds himself that this is not a conversation to be having on his front doorstep, because with a quick glance he can easily count at least three neighbours pretending not to watch Mad Baggins with the wandering wizard on his doorstep.

"Please, do come in," Bilbo tells them, careful not to let his tone sound too frosty. He doesn't want to potentially encourage Oleandra to emulate his behaviour (well, the _very impolite _behaviour that he is currently containing behind an iron control made of hobbity manners, elven dignity, and a lifetime of dealing with Sackville-Bagginses) in regards to the wizard.

"Thank you," Oleandra chirps, always happy to visit Bag End. She likes going through Bilbo's books and maps, especially the adventure books, those stories haven't been so well-read for years. Gandalf follows the small hobbit into the smial, still eyeing Bilbo curiously.

"Olly," Bilbo remarks neutrally, closing the door behind his visitors and desperately trying not to snicker ridiculously as Gandalf hits his head on the chandelier and has his hat knocked off. "Drogo and Primula are in the kitchen with Bell Gamgee."

"Making dinner for all them dwarves?" Oleandra asks, peering into a parlour to get a good look at the elven-made bow Bilbo uses and keeps on his mantle (he got it from Elladan and Elrohir and she's probably going to steal it from him sooner or later, she wants an elvish bow so much). "Mum said she's got a cobbler to spare if you're needing any help. I think she'd gotten over the archery and adventuring thing almost."

"All _those _dwarves, yes. You can tell your mother that I likely won't be needing anything, but a cobbler likely wouldn't be unappreciated," Bilbo says casually. "That's wonderful that you're starting see eye to eye."

"Nah," Oleandra drawls. "She still doesn't like it, but she's realized I'm not changing my mind for anything anytime soon."

"That's a start. Anyway, there are some cookies and such in the kitchen. I'd like to have a private word with Master Gandalf, if you don't mind. We can speak in my parlour or my office, Master Gandalf, do you have a particular preference?"

_Yes, please, where would you prefer I yell at you? _The back of Bilbo's brain snarks, but he shuts it down before it can reach his mouth.

"I think that the less far I have to delve into your home would be best, Master Baggins. I'm afraid that these ceilings were not built to accommodate beings of my height, nor-" The wizard pauses for effect, eyes twinkling dangerously. "-of my height in combination with the height of my hat."

There are so many responses Bilbo wishes he had the bad manners to say, but refrains himself because, all the Valar help him and all of Middle Earth, Gandalf _is _a wizard. You are _not allowed _to scream obscenities at a wizard or kick them in the shins if you have any sense of self-preservation. (It had been Glorfindel who'd taught him that, apparently having learned it from 'experience'.)

'_Or it may be your massive ego that's too big to fit through the door_,' is one response.

Another that comes to mind is, '_Perhaps it's that fact that your hat is full of lies and half-truths that's what makes your hat too big for my house_."

The rest of responses that come to mind are smart remarks about chandeliers and oversized heads.

"This way then," Bilbo says, leading the wizard into his parlour and trying not to smile widely when he notices Gandalf's eyes narrow as the wizard takes in a few of the knick-knacks Bilbo had about. It serves the wizard right for making assumptions about who he is and the life he'd led since Gandalf had seen him last.

Although, oh dear, now it's down to very serious business he'd been trying to ignore all day. Bilbo tells the wizard to make himself comfortable ("Anywhere you please, except that chair there. It belonged to Grandpa Mungo, an antique, not for sitting on."), goes to fetch tea (he and his team of dinner helpers have been fuelled all day by tea and there is constantly a kettle on), and wonders if anyone would notice if he climbed out a window to sweet, _sweet _freedom.

No, he is not allowed to do that.

He can conquer this feeling. He gets this feeling every time he has to associate with Lobelia or the few still unpleasant Hobbiton residents or the Bagginses who still hate him. He has conquered it a thousand times before and he will conquer it now because the consequences are now _so much worse_.

" You are a very _difficult _hobbit to find, young Bilbo," Gandalf repeats, seated in Bungo's old chair as Bilbo pours them both tea. "Your home was also very difficult to find as well, yesterday evening. Why was that?"

Bilbo does not appreciate the unspoken question of '_How _was that?' nor the wizard's subtle disapproving tone _that will not work on him_. Bugger if he's going to mention knacks or anything to someone who saw fit to tell a company of dwarves that a gentle-hobbit was a burglar more than happy to go on some mad quest.

"Well," Bilbo replies, handing Gandalf a cup of tea ("Thank you, my boy.") and settling into his own chair with his own cup. "After yesterday morning, I felt a bit upset and decided I needed a bit of privacy to give my mind some time to calm. One of those days, you know. Oh, please put that down. My grandmother crocheted that doily."

"Mmhmm," Gandalf hums noncommittally, putting down the doily he had been inspecting. Oh damn, that's the doily Adamanta made him out of the fine yarn he'd brought back from Rivendell. The wizard stares at Bilbo with those curious, knowing, and far too intrusive eyes.

Then, because Bilbo is a fool who cannot help himself. "In all honesty," Bilbo says casually, _ very _ casually, hoping to divert the wizard's attention, "I wasn't actually aware that my home was needing to be _ found _."

At least Gandalf has the respectability to look _ somewhat _ashamed at that. The wizard took a sip of his tip, then cleared his throat, and made an admirable effort to look at anywhere but Bilbo. If Bilbo had not spent a decade with elves, he would have thought that the wizard was properly and entirely ashamed but he's observant enough to see that Gandalf is also scanning the room and paying particularly attention to Bilbo's elven-made knick-knacks.

"Nor," Bilbo continues, although he knows this is probably largely unnecessary, it is _so immensely satisfying _to watch the wizard fidget, "was I at all aware that my _pantry_ was supposed to be feeding _thirteen_ dwarves. I find myself quite confused really, as clearly I am also unaware of any invitations that I extended to dinner." Bilbo sticks his best fake smile on his face, and beams glaringly at Gandalf.

At first, Gandalf says nothing. Then, "Indeed." And the wizard takes another sip of tea.

Bilbo also takes another sip of tea and waits.

And waits.

And _ waits _.

"Well!" Gandalf exclaims finally, then trails off into silence as there are few explanations that any hobbit would find acceptable to this and it's truly a challenge to come up with satisfying explanations when you're in the wrong and on the spot. (And Gandalf _is _in the wrong here, at least by hobbit standards, and the wizard _knows it_.)

Taking another sip of tea, Bilbo decides to cease the undercurrent of angry tension he's been directing at the wizard because silence never gets anyone anywhere. It was one of the things that Bungo had taught him, words of advice from the unofficial Hobbiton mediator, that you never got the things you wanted unless you spoke up and you spoke up loud and confident.

"I know about the quest," Bilbo informs Gandalf coolly.

"Oh?"

"I spoke to the dwarves earlier today, actually."

"Ah."

"Very... _charming _individual their leader is."

"...Indeed."

Bilbo puts down his cup and saucer, because he does not want his paternal grandmother's ghost to come haunt him because he cannot control the anger rising in him again.

"A _burglar, am I_?"

_ Now _ , Gandalf has the respectability to look _ properly ashamed, _ but the wizard says nothing. Part of Bilbo is wary of this, as he's heard from the elves that Gandalf likes to speak, but the rest of him is just _ angry _ that the wizard assumed that he could disrupt Bilbo's _ finally _ settled life _ just like that _ and risk _ so many _ hobbits _ just like that _.

"Master Gandalf, I am _no _burglar. And I'm certainly _not _a professional one! Why would you tell them that? _Why_? What _qualities_ do I _have_ that make _me _a suitable burglar? I_ would like _to _know _the reasons_ why, _if you _please_. "

Gandalf pauses before he speaks. "My dear Bilbo... Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet, very well able to pass by unseen by most other folk if they so choose. And in this quest, forgive me that I will not say more without the presence of the dwarves, there will be a... beast accustomed to the smell of dwarf. Hobbits are all but unknown to him."

"And that's _all_?" Bilbo asks before he can help himself. "Those are _all _the reasons why you choose _me_?"

"Well... no," Gandalf says and Bilbo forgets to breathe for a moment until the wizard continues. "Those are all the reasons I decided that a _hobbit _would be best. I'm afraid I had a few reasons that I chose _you,_ my boy, first and foremost because I mistakenly believed that the son of Belladonna Took might be able to better appreciate going on an adventure."

Bilbo flinches, both when the wizard mentions his mother and when he mentions 'adventure'. There is something in the way this wizard says the word that bodes ill in Bilbo's mind and stirs up the worst of his memories.

But worse than the wizard so casually mentioning things that Bilbo would rather the wizard never spoke of, was that disappointment and a deriding tone of disapproval that had crept back into Gandalf's words. It makes Bilbo feel that his mother would be disappointed with him if he stayed at home, which he knows is untrue and does not appreciate the wizard implying such.

"We all make _mistakes_ sooner or later," Bilbo says, purposefully obtuse as he picks up his teacup and saucer one more. He will _not_ throw it at Gandalf, he _will not_. "Even wizards, I suppose."

Gandalf's eyes narrow, but he smiles with modest good-nature. "Suppose so, indeed."

"And that's _it_?" Bilbo asks, just to confirm. It seems from the reasons given so far that the wizard is unaware of hobbit knacks, but Bilbo does not dare to trust any appearances given by this wizard. Gandalf's reputation precedes him and his actions yesterday only add to it.

"Well... yes," Gandalf replies, with a hint of confusion.

"How much do you _know_ about hobbits being good at passing by unseen?"

"Pardon?"

"What do the dwarves _know_ of hobbits?"

"Little more than the beast, I dare say. What matter would the knowledge of dwarves have about hobbits be a concern of yours, young Master Hobbit?"

Bilbo contains a massive sigh of relief. He must cover all ends, just to be sure. "Because there was some concern over what exactly you had told _outsiders_ about hobbits, Master Gandalf," Bilbo explains politely, with just enough reprimanding tone to make the wizard fidget a bit more. He is suddenly _so_ _absolutely_ _furious_.

"We are _not _a warlike people!" Bilbo continues, uncaring and not noticing that he gets louder and more angry as he speaks. "We are all but defenceless when outsiders decide that we make easy or valuable pickings! Do not think that I am unaware that the large lack of knowledge about hobbits protects us just as much as the Brandywine does!"

"Ah-"

"The world is full of greedy, warlike people, Master Wizard! And the last time_ greedy _big folk learned a little too much about hobbits, they tried to snatch _fauntlings!_ _Fauntlings!_"

"Well-"

"So _at least _do me the courtesy of answering a few questions after trying to heap a pile of dwarves on doorstop without _any sort_ of invitation! And worrying all of Hobbiton about what you'd told strangers about us so that they'd seek _me –_ _of all people_ – out as a burglar!"

Realizing that he stood while yelling at the wizard, and oh dear, he shouldn't have done that, Bilbo sits back down and huffs a little to catch his breath. He hears a crash of something from the kitchen, and knows that the hobbits in his kitchen are more than likely listening in.

"Those had better not be my mother's dishes! That West Farthing is over a hundred years old and I'd like it to see over a hundred and one!" Bilbo calls, and with shaking hands, he takes a sip of tea to try and calm himself. Then returns his attention to the wizard sitting across from him. "I'm alright," he says, "just... let me sit quietly for a moment."

"My dear boy," Gandalf says, eyes glittering with... what is that? Pity? Sympathy? _Dear Yavanna, it had better not be pity._ "I assure you that I had no intention of causing any worry. The Company of dwarves were not intended to be here for longer than an evening and a morning, nor were they intended to speak to any hobbits but yourself."

Bilbo stares. _That is __**not**__, nor is it __**anywhere near**__, an apology of any kind for what you tried to pull, _he thinks._ In fact, it sounds like you're __**blaming**__** me**__ for the fact that what you __**intended**__ didn't happen. _

Perhaps Granny Laura, Valar bless her, won't come to haunt him if he throws his teacup at the wizard. He's fairly certain, in fact, that she'd find the entire situation completely understandable.

"Well, whether causing a lot of good people a _lot _of worry was your intention or not," Bilbo remarks coolly. "A lot of good, respectable, honest people _were_ and _still are _worried. For their peace of mind, I really _must _know... _what do the dwarves know about hobbits?_"

Gandalf harrumphs. "I told you, young Master Hobbit, that the Company knows less than as little of hobbits as I am beginning to believe _I _know. I am truly, very curious as to how your home was not where it should have been yesterday evening."

"My home was _exactly _where it should have been," Bilbo replies disinterestedly. "I simply was not expecting any visitors, and it's quite common that newcomers to the Shire have difficulty in finding their way. Perhaps your dwarves followed the wrong directions?"

"Perhaps," Gandalf allows, his eyes still staring so intrusively at Bilbo as if searching for all the gentle-hobbits secrets. "It seems that there is a lot more to you than appearances suggest, Master Baggins."

"I've found that there is often more to most folk than appearances initially suggest, actually." _Well, except the Sackville-Bagginses maybe. _"It seems to be a fact of life."

Gandalf watches Bilbo take a last sip of tea with considering eyes and a faint smile. "I would not be surprised if you have a great deal more to offer than 'most folk' know, young hobbit, and I believe you know this very well."

_A great deal more than even you know_.

"I was asked to find a fourteenth member to the company of the dwarves, and it seems that I chose even better than I had believed," the wizard says. "The company needs a burglar possessing a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. You will suit them quite well."

_...what?_

"Hang on!" Bilbo says, placing his teacup down again. "I refused that offer! I told you to go find some other hobbit when you asked me yesterday morning and I refused that offer when I spoke to the dwarves _this_ morning! I'm _not _going on any ad-adventure!"

"My _dear _boy-"

"NO! Do you have _no respect _for a refusal when you hear one, Master Wizard?" Bilbo demands, far too loudly and he knows it. "I'm _no burglar_," he hisses, recalling those awful years accused at every turn of stealing knacks. "Nor a _thief_!"

The grey wizard glares angrily at the stubborn hobbit, putting down his teacup and rising to his full height (as much as he can manage anyway) and the room seems to shrink and grow immeasurably darker. "**Enough! If I say that you are a burglar, then a burglar **_**you are**_**!**" He booms loudly and terrifyingly, power echoing in every word. "**You have been sitting quietly for far too long!**"

_Ah_, the back of Bilbo's mind realizes beneath the panicky terror, _this is why no one angers a wizard_.

Gandalf sits back down, and light glows back into the room. "I am sorry, dear boy," Gandalf says quietly. "But the company is in dire need of a fourteenth member." He clears his throat. "When did doilies and your mother's dishes become so important to you? I remember a young hobbit who always was running off in search of elves in the woods, who would stay out late, and come home after dark, trailing mud and twigs and fireflies."

Bilbo straightens in his seat, and allows himself to pull those memories from the back of his mind. They're good memories, some of his best and far too effective, he does not appreciate how they are being used against him now.

"A young hobbit who would have liked nothing better than to find out what was beyond the borders of the Shire," Gandalf continues. "The world is not in your books and maps; it's out there. And I see from a few things-" The wizard's eyes flicker to the bow on Bilbo's mantle. "That you are already aware of this. Would you not be willing, do you not wish, to see some more of the world?"

_Damn manipulative old coot_.

Finding his voice, Bilbo protests while ignoring the faint ache he can feel in his chest that those words evoke. "I can't just go running off into the blue. I have a life. I have responsibilities. I am a Baggins, of Bag End."

_It means something. _

"You are also a Took," the wizard reminds him. Then, "Did you know that your great-great-great-great-uncle, Bullroarer Took, was so large he could ride a real horse?"

_I'm not sure what that has to do with anything but-_

"Yes."

_-because it's one of Uncle Isembold's favourite stories when he's drunk_.

"Well, he could," Gandalf confirms with a nod. "In the Battle of Green Fields, he charged the goblin ranks. He swung his club so hard it knocked the Goblin King's head clean off, and it sailed a hundred yards through the air and went down a rabbit hole. And thus the battle was won, and the game of golf invented at the same time!"

That... he had not heard before. Bilbo smiles despite himself, because he is fairly certain that if that was true, he would have heard it at least a dozen times before. "I do believe you made that up."

"Well," the wizard admits, "all good stories deserve embellishment. You'll have a tale or two to tell of your own when you come back."

Bilbo truly wishes Gandalf would stop speaking as though assuming that he has already agreed to go on the ad... mad dwarfish quest. He has too many responsibilities to go on a quest, and he really does not want to... does he? Yesterday his answer had been an immediate no, but now...? Is he really willing to risk leaving Bag End without it's last resident?

"Could you promise that I would come back?" Bilbo asks quietly. "Could you promise that?"

The wizard is silent. "No," he finally replies. "And if you do... you will not be the same."

Bilbo nods. "That's what I thought. My apologies, Master Gandalf, but I _definitely _won't be accompanying you on your... quest. You've got the wrong hobbit."

Gandalf stares at the young hobbit in front of him, then stands. "I see that you're quite decided on the matter, Master Baggins."

"I am," Bilbo replies, and he forces himself not to let his body turn to water out of pure relief. The wizard does not know, nor do the dwarves, of hobbit knacks. There is no need for panic nor dramatic action nor the bottle of wine sitting on his kitchen counter. They _do not_ know. Finally, he can stop worrying and _relax_.

"Then I believe I will be on my way. Although I do hope that you will come to change your mind by the end of the evening. It was very courteous of you to invite the Company to dinner tonight, young Bilbo, very courteous indeed."

_Oh shite...__** ri-ight**_.

* * *

_A/N: Hello all! I'm just letting you all know that I'm going to go and answer comments/reviews after I post this, and that I'm going to be answering comments/reviews again the day after I post this chapter. And also maybe the day after that too. So if you have any questions or anything that you would like a prompt reply to about this fic, absolutely anything you'd like to know, then put it down and I'll get to them. _

_I'm more reliable for answering things on the AO3 version of this fic, the link to which you can find on my profile._


	12. Prelude to a Party

_Disclaimer: I think if I ever got the chance to own any of J.R.R. Tolkien's works (copyright and such), I'd probably hold the papers close hissing, "My precious," solely because it would be funny as hell. So, as that hasn't yet happened, I'm pretty sure I don't own any of Mister Tolkien's works. I'm definitely sure I'm not getting any money for doing this. _

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: An Expected Party**

**Part I: A Prelude to a Party **

_In which that infamous dinner party is **trying **to happen but isn't quite managing it._

_Everybody goes at a different pace, I suppose._

"This... is the _exact_ same place as yesterday."

"It is."

"Except there is a _door_ here now."

"There _is_."

"And a _house_."

"Seems so."

"Which _definitely_ was not here yesterday."

"Well... yes."

"You knock."

"What?"

* * *

Bilbo Baggins sat at his dining table, which was practically groaning from the massive mountain of food on it, and he wondered what exactly he had gotten himself into. He had also wondered what would make him so foolishly agree to inviting thirteen dwarves and a wizard into his home so he could host them for dinner by himself, but he'd decided quickly that it was all probably due to a lack of self-preservation and an unfortunate tendency to take responsibility for other people's problems.

* * *

"There is an entire house that we _know _was not here yesterday evening but was here yesterday morning, according to the wizard, and is suddenly here again now."

"Kíli, what _is_ your point?"

"If you think I'm going to be the one to touch anything that can just vanish like that, _you're_ the one who Mum dropped on their head as a baby. You should stay away from it too."

"Kíli..."

* * *

He hadn't put much thought into the consequences of the affair really, perhaps (definitely) on purpose, while he'd had other things to distract him. He was still a hobbit at heart, ten years abroad notwithstanding, and hadn't wanted to think about unpleasant things when he could happily ignore them.

* * *

"Look! See that? That is the _exact _same mark from yesterday!"

"What? Where?"

"There."

"I don't see anything."

"There!"

"Oh! Hmm... looks like someone tried to paint over it, but the mark is glowing through the paint just a bit. The wizard put it there, so it's not too surprising that it's resilient..."

"Who cares about the mark? It's a disappearing door! That's not normal!"

"What about those hidden doors Balin talks about?"

"Those are _different_ and you know it!"

* * *

But now Bell had left to get her little ones to the dinner that Hamfast was at home cooking up for them, and all the rest of her children would be coming back from their friends' soon. It was time for the stout hobbit woman to leave him to the fate that he'd only brought upon himself.

"_Good luck, Mister Baggins, sir!" _

* * *

"Look, if you want to die, _you _can knock."

"Fine, I will."

"But just what'll I tell Uncle, huh? Sorry, Uncle, but Fíli was felled by a _door_?"

"I'm not going to die because of a door."

"It's a vanishing door. You don't know that."

"I _do _know that. It's a _door_."

* * *

And Drogo and Primula had been pried apart and sent home.

"_Thanks Cousin Bilbo! Good luck with your dw- ah, dinner!" _

"_Good luck with your dwarves, he means! You're gonna to need it, you poor sod!" _

"_Prim!" _

* * *

"A _vanishing _door."

"A _door_."

"I don't want you to die, Fee!"

"Oh _Mahal's beard_, Kíli."

"I CARE ABOUT YOU TOO MUCH!_" _

"_Be quiet_, Kíli!"

* * *

And little Olly Millwater had sort of... disappeared while he'd been speaking with Gandalf, so he assumed she'd run off back home before her mother missed her. Meanwhile the wizard in question had left with an incredibly annoying twinkle in his eye (and a bruised hat from hitting the chandelier with his hard head, _again_).

"_I believe I'll be seeing more of you again soon, young Baggins." _

Bloody wizard.

Just thinking about it made Bilbo groan loudly. He'd prefer to hit his head on the table in front of him, but the mashed potatoes was currently occupying that spot.

Bloody potatoes.

* * *

"Alright, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to knock-"

"Hmmah Mmagalfagalmah..."

"Shush. I'm going to _knock _on the door-"

"Mmmph Hmmah."

"-using the_ hilt_ of my _knife_."

"Mmahphagalmah."

"And if _anything happens_, I will be _ready_ for it. Alright?"

"Mmmhmm."

"_Don't _start yelling again. I'm going to take my hand off your mouth now."

* * *

And now Bilbo was sitting alone in his home (if you didn't count the small hill of food next to him), which was not an unfamiliar feeling, with his hands twitching with anxiety, another not entirely unfamiliar feeling. As he waited for the thirteen dwarves and a wizard that would show up any minute now, who'd only been invited over for a reason that wasn't valid anymore.

Bollocks.

* * *

"Ready? Here goes.."

"WAIT!"

"What _now_?"

"Okay, now go."

"Seriously?!"

"_Seriously_."

"...Fine."

* * *

Wait, what _had _he done with that wine bottle? Sh-

**Knock Knock.**

-ite...

They were here.

_Deep breaths_, Bilbo tells himself firmly, as he rises to open the door. His lungs were almost as much of a mess as his head at the moment, which definitely wasn't the sort of state that any host wanted to be in. Oh Yavanna, what _had _he agreed to?

* * *

"Nothing's happening, Kee."

"It could be a delayed reaction!"

"I _do not care_. Get out from behind that bush. It's embarrassing."

* * *

"Deep breaths," Bilbo repeats, aloud this time, as he walks towards his green front door. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, then he reaches for the handle...

* * *

"What do you think the burglar will be like?"

"I'm not sure I actually believe that anybody can live in a vanishing home."

"Kíli, _behave_."

* * *

...and opens.

"Hello! Bilbo Baggins at your service!" Bilbo says cheerily. He has the smile he uses for Sackville-Bagginses on his face, the one that nobody could tell was a complete and utter lie but everyone who'd met the Sackville-Bagginses knew it had to be. But he's really hoping these dwarves don't and won't know that, how could they know that anyway? Lobelia is infamous but not _that _infamous and...

Something is really, quite terribly wrong.

Two dwarves, one blond and one brunet, both much younger (and surprisingly handsomer) than he'd expected, were staring at him in seeming disbelief. They were staring as though neither of them believed what they were seeing, so incredulously that Bilbo momentarily panics and wonders if he's accidentally answered the door while Unnoticeable again.

_But no_... Bilbo realizes as he senses for the familiar velvety softness of his Unnoticeable-ness and watches these two strange dwarves stare _directly _at him with a somewhat insulting degree of total disbelief, he is not Unnoticeable. Just apparently extremely unexpected.

As Bilbo stands in his front doorway feeling increasingly like an idiot, the dwarves both suddenly look at his door and stare at it _hard_.

His door is a rather nice shade of green in Bilbo's opinion, but he had no idea that it was so very... apparently interesting.

Then the two dwarves look back at Bilbo, then back at the door, and then back at Bilbo again (who is staring rather confusedly at this point and wondering if he should have Hamfast take a look at his door) before they seem to realize what they're doing isn't really considered acceptable or _normal _behaviour by anyone's standards.

They're sort of reminding him of startled deer actually.

Adorable, heavily-armed deer.

"Would you like to come in?" Bilbo asks gently, slightly worried that doing anything too suddenly will provoke a flight or fight response.

The brunet suddenly breaks out into a wide smile, so suddenly that it's somewhat fearsome actually.

"Kíli at your service!" He says brightly. "And Fíli," offers the blond, much more subdued, and they both then bow in perfect synchronization.

They must put a great deal of practice into that.

"Again, Bilbo Baggins at yours," Bilbo says, a little bemused now. "Do come in."

The brunet, which would be Kíli he thinks, bounds inside with a grin, looking about Bag End as if to see it all at once. "It's nice, this place!" He says cheerily. "D'you you do it yourself?"

"I'm afraid not. It belonged to my mother," Bilbo answers politely as the blond, Fíli, steps inside a little more warily. It only takes a bit of nudging for the blond to stiffly step aside enough for Bilbo to close Bag End's green door.

"Oh?" The brunet says, from deeper inside Bilbo's home.

"My father built it for her when they married." Bilbo reveals, hoping to calm the blond somehow from whatever has the dwarf so edgy. "May I take your coat for you or anyt- DON'T _DO _THAT!"

The brunet dwarf (Fíli, no, Kíli) had been in the middle of _scraping his muddy boots _off on Bilbo's _mother's _glory box. Caught in the middle of the act with his boot raised, the startled brunet dwarf topples over backwards with a crash and the blond one looks ready to do that whole fight or flight routine Bilbo had been trying to avoid.

_Great overreaction Bilbo, so much for calming the blond dwarf down. But who on Middle-Earth taught these two house manners? Valar help me. This is going terribly_.

"I'm so sorry for raising my voice," Bilbo babbles, rushing over to help the bru- Kíli to his feet. "Really, I am so sorry, I shouldn't have yelled. But that was my mother's glory box and it's rather important to me so I'd prefer if you _didn't_ wipe your boots on it if you didn't mind."

The fallen dwarf is staring at Bilbo almost wondrously as Bilbo helps him to his feet, which is just odd. "No problem," the brunet says in a somewhat stunned manner. "All my fault. I'm really sorry about that. I'll clean it up."

"Oh no, don't worry about it. I'll take care of it later. Now, can I take your coats or anything?"

"No, we'll do it," the blond dwarf, Fíli, insists, speaking for the first time since introducing himself. "Just tell us where we can leave our things."

A little surprised, Bilbo nods. "You can leave them just over here," he says, gesturing more awkwardly then he'd like. "Then dinner will be just through there. Um... I'll just... leave you to it and... go put the kettle on, shall I? Right, I'll be- Okay."

Fíli and Kíli watch the halfling scurry off deeper into his home in the hill, this very warm and round place, towards where all the delicious smells are coming from probably.

"For a second, when he yelled at me, I fully believed that Mum had followed us here," Kíli whispers as he begins unloading himself of his things. "I never thought anyone who looked that nice could sound like that, Fee."

"..."

"Fee, what's wrong?"

"I don't think I actually thought the door would open, Kee," Fíli admits quietly, finally starting to relieve himself of some of his many knives. "And then... I don't think I was expecting... him."

Kíli hums in agreement. "He looks like the kind of person who'd live in a 'smile', doesn't he? Not at all the kind of person you'd think would live in a disappearing house though."

"Yeah."

"Hey, Fee?"

"What?'

"D'you think Uncle's noticed we're gone, yet?"

* * *

Adelard Goodchild's good mood had, for the past twenty-four hours or so, hinged on whether or not there were still dwarves in his inn. Currently, there were dwarves in his inn, therefore the gruff hobbit who ran the Green Dragon was not in a good mood. It was quite simple.

Anson Goodchild, Adelard's eldest son and general right-hand hobbit, fully believed that he'd received more valuable world experience in these past twenty-four hours than the past six months. Large groups of dwarves were a _menace_, a very _educational _menace.

And now his father was basically sulking in one of the back rooms because the damned dwarves _still _weren't gone, which left Anson in charge. So far – with the ruckus the dwarves had made yesterday evening, at second breakfast, at lunch, and were making again now – Anson was giving being in charge a review of 0/10; would not recommend to anyone or willingly do again.

Total responsibility was _awful. _

"They're supposed to be going to Mad Baggins' for dinner," Anson hisses to the head waitress, Zinnia Hornspring, standing nearby. "Why _haven't_ they left yet?"

Zinnia, who happened to be Anson's fiancée, turns away from watching the waggon wreck that is the dwarves and Notices her husband-to-be hiding behind the Green Dragon's bar as Unnoticeable as he can make himself. "What are you doing?" Zinnia demands flatly, clearly less than impressed at Anson's behaviour.

She was 'less than impressed' with pretty much everyone and everything all the time, it was one of the reasons Anson loved her, but she'd been especially not impressed with things after having to 'make nice' with thirteen dwarves two nights in row.

"Hiding, my knack's never been great," Anson answers grudgingly. "And the white-bearded one and the one with the pointy hair keep asking _questions_ about Mad Baggins. It's one of the reasons Da's hiding one of the back rooms right now."

The waitress harrumphs, turning back to enjoy watching the dwarves argue loudly instead of buggering off like everyone wishes they would. Their unhappiness and frustration was extremely satisfying. "I thought he was there because that's where the ale was _and_ dwarves weren't," she comments blandly, her voice taking on a slight wobble that meant she was trying to make her words Unnoticeable unless you took particular care to Notice them.

"Well... that too," her fiancé admits, being long used to and particularly good at Noticing his future wife. "Looks, Zin, can you _please_ just figure out whatever's wrong and fix it so they can leave already? _Please_?"

"Mmmm."

"The white-bearded one keeps giving me this _look_."

"Uh huh."

"I'll take you fishing again," Anson offers, sounding a bit desperate now.

Zinnia stops staring at the dwarves and peers at the hiding hobbit behind the bar with something that almost resembles curiosity. "You hate fishing," she says, surprise edging into her tone. "Something about it being unnatural for hobbits to go near water and killing innocent fish, or something else rubbishy."

"Yeah, but you don't," Anson reminds her. "C'mon Zin, _please_? Just figure out why they aren't leaving and fix it, or _hit them with your serving plate_ until they leave _anyway_. That's just as good. Just _get them gone_ already, _please_."

"Deal," the head waitress agrees and Anson lets out a sigh of relief as his fiancée walks off towards the massive noise that's probably the dwarves. Zin would fix it, she was good at solving problems, or just glaring at problems until they went away of their own accord.

Anson was in the middle of resigning himself to spending a day in a boat on water with whatever dead fish that his fiancée had caught, when Zinnia came back only a couple minutes later. Unfortunately, the noise, and therefore the dwarves as well, was still there.

"Well?" Anson prompts hopefully as the head waitress walks behind the bar and starts rummaging around, pretending to do something or rather. "That seemed quick."

"They're loud," Zinnia murmurs. "I didn't even have to ask them anything. It's like they're shouting their problems for the convenience of any bystanders."

Anson nodded, not really caring about secrecy, just wanting the damned dwarves gone. "So? What's their problem? Why aren't they leaving for Mad Baggins'?"

"They've lost two of their own. I didn't even notice, it's so hard to keep track of them all. They refuse to go anywhere until the two are found."

Anson thinks hard for a second. "The two young-looking ones? The ones Da wanted to hang upside down from the ceiling by their ankles?"

"That's them."

"Didn't they leave for Baggins' ages ago?"

"That's what Daff said."

"Why in the bloody hills are the dwarves still here then?" Anson growls, understanding slightly why his father is the way he is much better now. "Didn't you tell _them_ that?"

"I did. I sent Daff to do it," Zinnia snaps, kicking her fiancé softly in the shin. "Don't get growly at me."

"Sorry," Anson replies, rubbing the shin in mention. "But why _are _they still here?"

Zinnia shrugs. "Something about 'getting a new bloody wizard because theirs is broken, else why would he send those two first _again _without telling anybody'."

"..._What?_"

"And on that same note, the wizard's gone again too."

"Go back, say that last part ag-"

"Wait," Zinnia interrupts, straightening up and giving up any pretence of working. "They've stopped arguing enough to be leaving now. There they go."

"Oh... Good riddance," Anson sighed; his knees were really starting to cramp.

* * *

"So through here is the dining room..." Bilbo says conversationally as he leads his two, somewhat subdued now, visitors through his home. He's a bit worried that he scared them somehow, although he doesn't particularly understand why _they'd _be scared of _him, _especially since they didn't know about Unnoticeable knacks. Anyway, they've been a bit quiet and he's been chattering away trying to make up for that, which he feels only serves to make things more awkward and himself more anxious but he can't seem to stop.

The unlikely trio rounds the bend that allows the small hill of food to come fully into sight, and Bilbo can't help but feel a small spout of hobbity pride at how much he and Bell (and also Drogo and Primula too, sort of) managed to accomplish. This would feed a dozen or so hobbits okay, so it was probable that this would do for the company of dwarves.

So focused on his own thoughts, Bilbo does not notice that his two taller companions have stopped in the doorway except to stop with them. Standing between them, he waves his hands over the rather impressive – if he does say so himself – display.

"And here's the dinner!" Bilbo finishes proudly. "I do hope there will be enough to go around." The gentle-hobbit turns to the blond dwarf, Fíli, whom he thinks is the elder of the two. "Do either of you know when the rest will be h- Are... are you quite alright?"

"Fine," the blond dwarf croaks, "Just fine."

Bilbo frowns. Both dwarves are standing stiff, staring straight ahead with wide eyes. They seem... shocked, and he's not quite sure how to respond to that.

"Are you sure? You've gone... you've gone a bit pale, you know."

Fíli shakes his head slowly. "Nope," he replies quickly, his voice strangely much higher-pitched than before. "Absolutely _fine_."

Just then, the younger dwarf, Kíli, makes a watery sniffing sound. Bilbo and Fíli turn to look at the brunet with incredulous expressions as they take in the dwarf's reaction to the massive meal in front of them.

"Are... are you _crying_?" Fíli asks of his brother.

The brunet shakes his head in fierce denial. "I'm not crying, _you're _crying," he insists, just as he raises a hand to wipe away tear tracks on his face.

_Well, they had to have been travelling to get here_, Bilbo tells himself, remembering the horror that was the travel food that Elladan and Elrohir had forced on him over the years. He shudders a bit in memory. It's really completely understandable to be a bit stunned at lots of good, home-cooked food after some time on the road.

_Although the crying really _ _ **is ** _ _a bit much. _

"Please, uh, have a seat," Bilbo tells them, and realizes that there's only four seats at the table at the moment. Damn, how could he lay out all that food and then forget to put out seats? "I'll just get some more chairs... um... are you certain you're alright?"

"Yes. I just... I just need a minute."

"Would you like a handkerchief?"

"...A what?"

* * *

A company of eleven dwarves walked through the Shire, nearing the green door of Bag End. They were loud and looked rather angry, so any hobbits they might have encountered had either turned around and ran the other direction or dove behind a nearby bush and made themselves Unnoticeable.

The quietest of the conversations that was talking place as the dwarves walked (See: stomped) was between the two at the front, and it was a strangely repetitive one.

"Do not let me hit the wizard."

"Y'told me that already."

"I am _repeating_ it for good measure. Do not let me do it."

"I know."

"Even if he deserves it."

"He does deserve a hard knock to the face, though."

"Yes, he does, but I will leave _that_ particular joy for some dwarf with a death wish."

"..._Thorin_."

"Yes..? Oh..."

* * *

Bilbo had left the two dwarves, along with a handkerchief or two to help with the rather sudden and – in his opinion – _unwarranted _tears, to go get some more seats. Unfortunately now there was the question of _where _to get some more seats, which he would _definitely _need if he hoped to be housing thirteen dwarves for dinner.

Oh, and a wizard. Bloody Gandalf.

But there was the unfortunate problem of him not having any clue of where to find enough chairs to sit on. Bungo and Belladonna had never thrown more parties than they could help, much less been ones to throw massive dinner parties for more than half a dozen people or so. And Bilbo himself has done his utmost to manipulate situations so that he _never _has to have anyone over for more than brunch or tea, and visits _other people's _home for larger meals.

So Bilbo's not even sure if he _has _enough chairs for fourteen guests. There were _some _in a closet somewhere and _maybe _some more in the cellar, but he doesn't really want to go hunting for chairs down there when he doesn't even know if there _are _any.

Wait, why is he worrying about chairs again? There are _dwarves _in his house! _Dwarves! _

Dwarves... that he _did _agree to host for dinner. So therefore he needs to provide them with _chairs_ which, of course, he actually needs to _find_. There was no use panicking now, there were already dwarves in his house, it was too late anyway – there was no escape.

Unless... unless, he just ran out the door and kept running. With his Unnoticeable knack, he _could _just run and hide until they left. It _was actually an option_ for him to do that. But... argh, the _consequences_. No matter how far he ran or how well he hid, there would still be dwarves running rampant and _unsupervised _for a period of time and he was _not _prepared to risk Bag End and everything in it to dwarves he'd never met.

It would be like Lobelia visiting and then letting her leave without emptying her pockets. He'd probably lose all his good cutlery and then both his ears after he died when all the Bagginses he'd inherited things from yelled his ears off for being so flippantly careless with their things.

Now, back to the subject at hand. Well, he could get out those few that were in the closet and then he could probably borrow a couple from the parlour and his study. Only some of those chairs are meant for sitting on anymore and he's fairly certain that Granny Laura wouldn't even _wait _for him to die so that she could berate him for letting anyone _near_ Grandpa Mungo's chair – she'd probably just come back as a ghost and haunt him until he had 'a good appreciation for his family heritage' or something similar.

Bilbo goes off to get the spare chairs from the closet but they're wedged in because of Bilbo's great social-gatherings in his own home avoidance efforts. Bilbo tugs on the stubborn chair with a grunt, but his pitiful strength is clearly no use against his 'family heritage'. This is taking longer than he thought, he probably should have done this _before _the dwarves started showing up.

Oh, he probably shouldn't be leaving the two dwarves he currently _has _on their own for too long. He's not actually concerned that they'll steal his good cutlery or anything (mostly because the good cutlery is still hidden from the last time Lobelia and company visited) but more because things are suspiciously quiet in there and it's a bit foreboding.

You _really _didn't manage to get by in a place of mischievous fauntlings, gossipy neighbours, and people that could make themselves _actually imperceptible_ without being able to recognize when things started to _bode_; and things were definitely _boding _n-

**Ding-dong-a-ling-dang**

Startled, Bilbo released the chair he was trying to get free and fell over, landing somewhat painfully on his backside. He pulled himself to his feet quickly and hastily repressed the urge to let his Unnoticeable-ness wrap around him in protection.

_Oh Yavanna – what in the bloody hills was **that?** A bell? I don't even **have** a doorbell, did someone **bring **a bell to his door **just **so they could ring it o- Oh, no wait._ He remembered having a doorbell once upon a time before leaving the Shire, but he'd hidden the damn thing – he'd hidden that thing _damn well_ and apparently for _good reason –_ in the garden shed after being bothered by so many visitors without twin elf-warrior buffers.

Hadn't Hamfast said something the previous week when he'd been giving Bilbo's door a fresh coat of paint? Something about finding that damn bell and putting it up again? Oh Bilbo _knew _he should have buried the cursed object like he'd wanted to.

**Ding-dong-a-ling-dang **

Yes, he _definitely _should have done a better job of getting rid of it. First thing after this horrid dinner, he was ripping the thing off again and tossing it in the Brandywine. Or... maybe he should attach the thing to _Lobelia _and _Otho's door_. Yes, they were _always _after Bag End and everything that came with it... they should _just love it_.

Bilbo took a moment to appreciate the sheer beauty of that thought, and wondered how difficult it would be to be able to witness Lobelia and Otho's reaction the first time their new bell is rung. Oh, he'd probably use his knack to Unnoticeably pull the bell at least once a day for... well, forever. Which is a grievous misuse of his abilities but he _really _doesn't care.

**Ding-dong-a-ling-dang **

But first, _dwarves_.

"Er... Master Baggins?" One of the dwarves in the dining room called, he didn't know which one because he didn't know their voices well enough to differentiate yet. "That'll be the door, I think? Some few, I should say, by the sound."

"What _is _that?" The other asked loudly, presumably only meant to be heard by the other but the sound carrying through the halls of Bag End. "Is that supposed to be a _bell?_"

"I've got it!" Bilbo called back, though he really wanted nothing better than to run away, attach that awful bell to the Sackville-Bagginses' door, and hide somewhere where he could properly sit, put his head in his hands, and think about this terrible mess he'd managed to get into. Now that the prospect of _more _dwarves was suddenly very much _right here, right now, _he was feeling quite anxious and a bit regretful about many things. Mostly the things that had ended up with him in his current situation.

He walked to the door anyway, because he _was_ a fool who lacked self-preservation and had an unfortunate tendency to take responsibility for other people's problems. He knew it, if only that would make it all somehow less true.

**Ding-dong-a-ling-dang **

Have these dwarves ever heard of _patience_? It was as if some naughty little fauntling was trying to pull the handle off. Actually, Bilbo would like that. Both the handle breaking and it being a fauntling instead of more dwarves. Not that he had anything against dwarves in general, or the ones currently in his kitchen.

Bilbo rushed to the door before the dwarves could even _think _to pull that awful bell again, feeling altogether anxious, apprehensive, and a tad regretful – these two days had consisted of the greatest disaster of a Wednesday and Thursday that he ever remembered and he wanted the whole affair over and done with already.

He pulls open the front door with a jerk, much more forcefully than he normally would, and then promptly finds himself being thrown to the floor as several dwarves fall in, one on top of the other, all on top of _him_.

It hurt. It really, _really _hurt.

His breath seems to have been forcefully knocked from his lungs and he can't see anything as the heavy dwarves shift and scramble and shove against each other in an effort to get to their feet. He can hear laughter and grumbling and a few unhappy "Get off!" sounds, but it doesn't really mean much because his head is spinning, he's got fur or hair in his face, and he can't really feel the rest of him that well.

A sudden shifting of dwarves allows one of them to either knee or elbow Bilbo's stomach and all his air seems to be beaten out of him again even though there wasn't much left from being squished under heavy, _armoured _dwarves. Oh, that is _very unpleasant. _

"Carefully! Carefully!" A familiar voice called and _oh no, speaking of unpleasant_, Bilbo recognized that voice_._"It is not like you, Bilbo my boy, to keep friends waiting on the mat, and then open the door like a pop-gun! Bofur, help our host to his feet so he can properly invite us in!"

_Bloody Gandalf_.

_Yes, definitely feeling those regrets now. _

* * *

_A/N: Okay, I'm not gonna lie. I forgot my account exists for awhile there. If you want more regular updates, try my Ao3 account (there's a link on my author page). This story is at least two chapters further on Ao3.  
_

_Thanks for staying with and leaving reviews. I'll go check some of those out now. _


	13. Confusicate and Bebother!

_Disclaimer: So yeah, definitely don't own Mister Tolkien's works, definitely sure I'm not getting any money for doing this. If someone is intercepting any money that I'm supposed to be getting, know that when I find you, I'm gonna make getting eaten alive by Shelob sound like a more preferable option. _

* * *

_A/N: Here's the 'That's what Bilbo Baggins hates' song if anyone wanted to listen to it at the appropriate place during the story. It's on Youtube._

_/watch?v=o5MwScwGass_

_I'd suggest you start it when you get to this line: "And that... that is when the singing starts."  
OR (probably a better place) right after Bilbo follows Ori back inside._

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: An Expected Party**

**Part II: Confusicate and Bebother!**

_A bad beginning – Accidents waiting to happen – Hobbit in the closet – I'm off to scream at a wizard – That's what Bilbo Baggins hates – More things that Bilbo Baggins hates  
_

OR

_What not to do at a dinner party when you're trying to convince someone to spend a great deal of time with you in the future._

Thirteen dwarves is an excess of dwarves for a single hobbit's home, and Bilbo has become increasingly certain since the rest of dwarves arrived that this was a terrible decision and he really should have just run without looking back.

But he can't even manage to feel sorry for himself anymore because the repetitiveness is seriously beginning to get to him. He honestly thinks that he might be losing the contents of his stomach if he ponders how much he doesn't want to be here any longer, because he's that sick of his own mental whining.

But these dwarves are... well, they're _interesting_.

After the one with a ridiculous hat, Bofur, scraped Bilbo off the floor and Bilbo regained enough of his breath to invite them all inside, he had watched (somewhat incredulously) eleven _very different _dwarves and one wizard track mud all over his floor. Although it had felt differently, it turned out that only _five_ had fallen on him and after eyeing all their armour and weapons, Bilbo decided it could have been worse.

The leader (Thorin), and the bald dwarf had gone directly inside without so much as a single apology for nearly making Bilbo a hobbit pancake. But the other three who'd fallen on top of Bilbo via falling on top of the other two, one of whom is Bofur of the strange hat, stayed behind to make sure the poor flattened hobbit was okay. Bilbo appreciates the thought even if they had done all their talking (very, _very _loudly) over his head and jostled him about a bit.

Bofur's brother Bombur, an immensely fat dwarf with ginger hair, apologized repeatedly for the incident as it seemed it was him who caused the fall. Seeing as how the dwarf was truly regretful and very embarrassed over the incident, clearly wishing to make as though it never happened but still wanting to apologize, Bilbo had waved it away as nothing although he was (and still is) feeling twinges that he knows will be bruising.

The last dwarf to have fallen on him was Bofur and Bombur's cousin, Bifur. It's rather alarming to see someone with an axe in their head at first, but Bilbo controlled his reaction so that he only gives the head injury raised eyebrows instead of gawping that he knew would not be appreciated. Bifur had rapidly signed with his hands in a language Bilbo doesn't know, but Bofur translated it as an apology and even if it actually wasn't, Bilbo doesn't care enough to make a fuss after being crushed to the floor so he just accepted it.

Then Bofur had slapped him on the back _hard_. Bilbo is sure that this was meant to be friendly, but the twinges all but curse and scream at the agitation. He himself only barely managed to bite back some curses because of masterful self-control and his lungs weren't up to expressing so much _ow_.

The exchange barely lasted a minute before the brothers and cousin moved on and Bilbo had been left to close the door behind his guests, then marvel at the controlled chaos of a great many dwarves in his front hall – all taking off coats and weapons and Valar knew what. Gandalf had been standing in the centre of it all with his eyes dancing merrily at the near rampage and Bilbo, not wanting to deal with the wizard just then, had decided to go check on the two young dwarves in his dining room instead of trying to control the madness.

By the time there was a path clear enough for him to make it through, there is dried mud all over his floor, coats on his furniture, and weapons – more than anyone should be taking to a _dinner party –_ in his parlour. Did the dwarves take everything of theirs from their rooms in the Green Dragon? Where in the bloody hills do they think they'll be staying? Or are they really just that paranoid that someone will steal all of their things?

This is the Shire, for the sake of all that was green, the worst thing that's ever been stolen by a hobbit (to Bilbo's knowledge) is another hobbit's family recipe and... actually that was a bad example. Bilbo had had to call in the Thain to mediate that because things had gotten rather ugly rather quickly; few things were more valuable than a hobbit's family recipes. But why any hobbits would want the things of a ragtag group of dwarves, which mainly seemed to consist of armour and weapons, is altogether inconceivable to Bilbo.

Bilbo had moved through the still disarming dwarves towards the dining room and been considerably surprised to find that neither Fíli nor Kíli had touched the veritable mountain of food on the table. He would have thought they would at least take a few bites after the crying reaction but apparently not.

Instead, he'd found the two young dwarves being severely told off by the dark-haired company leader Thorin, for going off on their own and entering an unknown situation by themselves. The phrasing around 'unknown situation' had made Bilbo feel as though he should be taking offence, but the terrifying bald and tattooed dwarf was, at the time, right there glaring fiercely at the two and Bilbo... Bilbo had felt it would not be in his best interest to interrupt that.

But as Bilbo had turned around to make himself scarce, he'd found that his way was blocked by dwarves all staring frozen at the food in front of them. Then one of them noticed aloud that there wasn't enough chairs for all of them and then... well, the chaos that had been happening in the front hall seemed rather tame by comparison.

* * *

Food, and plenty of it, appeared to be a great motivator for dwarves as well as hobbits. Bilbo just considers himself lucky that they didn't decide to fight for the available chairs instead of _raiding his home _for extra seating. He's lucky he hasn't been trampled yet, really.

"No, no, no!" Bilbo says loudly as two dwarves, who he thinks are brothers, carry Grandpa Mungo's chair towards the dining room. The _last _thing he needs is Granny Laura's ghost showing up in the middle of this mess because of some _dwarf _breaking a family heirloom. "That's an antique, not for sitting on. Please, put it _back_."

"I cannot hear what you're saying!" the grey-haired of the two shouts and Bilbo supposes that that's somewhat understandable given the _noise _these dwarves are managing to make. But he's certain he's close enough to be heard and the fact that the dwarves just try to continue on like he hadn't spoken at all (which they've _all _been doing since the rest of them got here basically), along with being jostled about in their furniture scavenging, sort of really, _really ticks _him off.

"_Put. It. Back,_" Bilbo repeats fiercely, practically shouting by his volume. He feels somewhat satisfied when their heads whip back around to stare at him and glares at them both for emphasis. "There are _chairs for sitting on _in the closet off of the dining room, so _put that one __**back**__._"

It's only after the dwarves are staring at him incredulously, which isn't too surprising given that he's a host who's _shouting _at his own guests, that Bilbo realizes these dwarves have manage to agitate him enough that his control over his knack is _slipping_. His Unnoticeable-ness is sort of fluttering about wildly at the moment, which is... odd.

It's never done that before.

Bilbo reigns the velvety feel of his Unnoticeable-ness back under control and slaps himself mentally, because he's already at risk with these dwarves considering the stunt with Bag End yesterday. He'll think about his fluttering knack later, if he survives that long.

All around him is chaos and he's _ losing it _trying to pay attention to everything.

"_ Mahal _ , did you _ see _that pile of food in th-"

"-swear if somebody eats all the meat before I get any, they're gonna wish-"

"-me, Mr. Gandalf, can I tempt you with a nice cup of chamomile tea?"

"-at's this d'ya think?"

"Would you just _ lift your side _, you tw-"

"Oh, no thank you, Dori. A little red wine for me, I think."

"-n't know. A dishcloth, maybe?"

"But it's got holes!"

The only possibly _good _side is that only _eight _dwarves are running about, as Fíli and Kíli are still getting lectured thoroughly by the tattooed-dwarf, the white-bearded one called Balin, and company leader Thorin (the awful git from the Green Dragon).

Bilbo runs a hand through his curls in frustration. "_ Please _ put that back, it's my late grandfather's chair and it's _ really _not for sitting on. You'll be able to find more chairs in the closet over there and there are some more in the cellar if necessary. Thank you!"

One of the two dwarves holding the chair, the red-haired one, opens his mouth to say... well, something presumably, but Bilbo spots something _ horrible _out of the corner of his eyes. Before either of the dwarves can do anything, the hobbit is suddenly rushing off through the chaos of dwarves moving his furniture about.

"That is a _ book, not _a coaster," Bilbo practically snarls, ducking under a chair being carried (very adeptly avoiding getting laid out on his newly muddied floor) and snatching the book in question out of the offending dwarf's hands. He immediately running his hands over it to check for damage.

He'd already had a high respect for books before going off to Rivendell, but Erestor (the elf in charge of the Rivendell library) was _ absolutely meticulous _ with the books in the elvish library and it had sort of rubbed off on Bilbo during their friendship. Elves lived forever and they handled their books to last as long as possible; the elves who worked as librarians were wonderful people but also _ very terrifying _in that quest.

Bilbo couldn't imagine using _ his own _ most worn and disliked book as a _ coaster _ , much less just _ walking _ into someone else's home and using _ someone else's _books like that. It really said quite a lot about these dwarves, their respect for books and other people's property both, and personally...? What it said to Bilbo wasn't very favourable.

Fortunately for the dwarf – Bilbo _ can _ be both dangerous and fearsome when he wants to be, thank you very much – there are no obvious signs of damage to his book. But then Bilbo notices that it's the book of adventure stories and fantasy that his mother gave him, the once beloved book that he read yesterday for the first time in a _ very long _ time, and any feelings of relief are immediately replaced with a very _ cold _ and very _ unhappy _feeling.

"I would _ greatly appreciate _ if you kept my _ personal _ possessions, especially my _ books, _ far _ away _ from any positions in which they could be _ potentially damaged _ , Mister Bofur," Bilbo says to the strangely-hatted dwarf icily, before he gets enough of his mind back to stop the sharper side of his tongue. "Foodstuffs and ale are _ not _ particularly _ good _ for books if you weren't aware."

Bofur stares, then gives a shamed expression that is worthy of any puppy or fauntling. Oh, dear Yavanna, the dwarf is even scuffing his boots on the floor. Well, Bilbo still doesn't feel kindly towards the exuberant dwarf but he lets up his icy glare. Hmm, his response hadn't been very hobbity of him, or very kind. Erestor's influence on Bilbo's view on books spread wider than he'd thought it seemed.

The cheerful – yet apparently careless with other people's things – dwarf is giving some sort of apology, all at once bewildered and confused and sorry, that Bilbo sort of half listens to. He's a bit busy keeping half his mind on not getting run over by hungry dwarves, while also considering whether or not to apologize for his snappish tone (on one hand, he's the host, on the hand, this dwarf was trying to use a _book _as a _coaster_). But whatever the case, Bilbo's ears pick up on something that gives him the oddest urge to turn around...

"Mr. Gandalf?"

"Hmm?"

Bilbo, completely ignoring Bofur behind him (which is terrible manners but his instincts _so rarely_ fail him), turns around and _freezes because his instincts did not at all fail him. _A silver-haired dwarf, whose name is totally unknown to Bilbo, is pouring Gandalf a glass of wine from the bottle that Adelard Goodchild gave him for tonight that the gentle-hobbit apparently _left on his counter because he's an absolutely idiot. _

"A little glass of red wine, as requested-"

_Oh fuck. _

"-It's, eh, got a fruity bouq- ah!"

Bilbo's body had carried him through the mess of dwarves without registering his doing it or feeling any of the bruises he'd probably gained from doing that, and before the dwarf could even _offer _the filled glass of wine to the wizard, Bilbo had taken both into his hands immediately.

The gentle-hobbit turns on the large dwarf immediately. "Did you drink any of this?"

"Excu-"

"_Did you drink any_?"

The dwarf sputters. "No!"

Bilbo has interrogated a few mischievous fauntlings over the years, he _was _a mischievous fauntling years and years ago, he knows better than to take the first answer. Any halfway decent liar could give a believable first accusal denial, but any _really good _liar _kept up _a believable denial.

"You _were saying _the wine had a fruity bouquet."

"I-"

"I'm _not _angry, I just _really need to know_."

The dwarf is taken aback and if Bilbo weren't _worried out of his fucking mind _he'd probably noticed that the dwarf is extremely taken aback at the minute suggestion that he might lie to the gentle-hobbit. But Bilbo can't think straight right now _because this is really bad _and suddenly the dwarf looks _rather insulted_.

"I _sniffed _it," the dwarf informs Bilbo haughtily. "A bouquet is the layers of aromas in a wine, the smells one can perceive in a sniff _without _tasting the wine. Which _any _appreciator of wine would know."

Bilbo deflates.

_Oh, thank the Valar. _

"Wine lover, then?" Bilbo says cheerily, trying his best to ignore that this all happened _right next _to Gandalf, whom he's been trying to avoid. He can practically _feel _the old coot's curious eyes on him right now and wills himself not to even _glance _at the interfering meddler.

The dwarf looks stunned at the hobbit's sudden change in demeanour – from a fierce interrogator to a polite host. "More of a tea lover, actually," says the dwarf, squinting suspiciously at Bilbo.

_Yeah, I'm not going to be able to recover from this one. _

"Bilbo," Gandalf says, and _oh no, here it comes_. "Why so much fuss over a bottle of wine? Surely you aren't begrudging an old man a few vices? I believe I'm well old enough to handle a glass of wine with my dinner, young hobbit, or at least old enough to decide for myself whether or not I want any."

_Come up with a believable lie, you idiot hobbit_.

Bilbo holds the bottle and glass closer to him, regaining his awareness of the furniture raid in all it's chaos around him. "My apologies. I'd taken this wine out to hide it away for tonight, it was given to me for a special occasion. My cousin's going to get married soon, you see. I shouldn't have left it out on the counter, but I suppose I got distracted."

Gandalf stares and Bilbo can nearly feel the gaze going right through him, then the old wizard nods agreeably and gives Bilbo an annoyingly knowing smile. "Ah, perfectly understandable."

_There is absolutely no way he knows_, Bilbo tells himself. _Stop panicking and be glad this didn't end worse than it has_. _This could have been __**so **__bad. _

Trying to keep himself calm even though his heart is going a league a beat, Bilbo smiles as warmly as he can manage at the silver-haired dwarf (although all he gets in return is a suspicious glare). "There are some more wines in the kitchen and if you can't find any to your taste there, I can likely procure something to your tastes – you too, Master Gandalf – from my cellar. Now, if you don't mind, I'll be putting this away somewhere out of the way."

Bilbo runs for it.

He's not entirely sure how, but he manages to weave his way through the dwarves, find the cork for the damnable bottle of wine that _never _should have been opened, and mangle his way through the dwarves again – who all seem to be under the agreement that nobody starts eating until there's enough seats for everyone, which is _fantastic, _but it makes them all _bloody _desperate for some reason. Anyway, he makes his way to his bedroom and hides the wine at the bottom because _there's no reason for any of the dwarves to look there _and _it's not like anyone would actually drink anything they'd found at the bottom of someone's closet anyway. _

Actually... considering Bofur, he of the strange hat, trying to use a book as a coaster, he might have to rethink that one. It should be fine as long as he kept them out of his bedroom entirely; they'd never even look in the closet, much less manage to go digging for anything.

_Great Valar, that was terribly close though_.

Bilbo stays in his room for a few minutes just to calm himself down, but it takes a few extra minutes because he manages to rile himself up at how he's being the worst host in the history of The Hill, and how these dwarves are the _absolute worst. _So then needs to calm down again.

He is a strong, independent hobbit who _really needs _these dwarves out of his house. He can do this... probably. Well, maybe if he had a few months to really prepare, but five minutes would probably do well enough anyway, right?

Bilbo slipped out of his bedroom cautiously, refusing to think of himself as a fearful animal of prey, and five seconds down the hall trips over someone's discarded knife. It's a bit of a challenge to resist the urge to stab somebody with it.

* * *

Bilbo was trying to pretend that all this was perfectly ordinary and not in the least an adventure, and he wasn't succeeding in the slightest.

He _really _should have set up chairs before hand, it was terrible for him as a host that he hadn't. He'd certainly been planning to but he'd gotten distracted and suddenly there hadn't been the time because there were _thirteen_ dwarves in his house with names that _rhymed_.

Bilbo fully understands that his father was Bungo, son of Mungo, but the names these dwarves have are absolutely ridiculous.

He feels somewhat... torn at the moment. On one hand, the hobbit in him is quite put out that he's not currently enjoying the food it took him and Bell so long to make, while on the other hand the self-preserving side of him wouldn't try to stick his hand into that mess if he was being _paid to do so. _

As soon as enough chairs had been found and things discarded, the company of dwarves had descended on his dining room like a pack of wild animals. Food is being thrown across the room (the fat ginger dwarf's catch with his mouth was impressive though), no dish is being spared, and... Fíli has taken it upon himself to serve ale by walking down the table itself, how _lovely _that'll be to clean up.

The dwarves that he would have pegged as more mild-mannered, like that terribly unpleasant Thorin fellow and the white-bearded Balin, are eating a little off to the side of the others having aquiet and tense conversation. Bilbo had quickly realized that the leader of this company clearly had not a care for him or his home and was totally disinclined to make anything even _remotely _easier on Bilbo.

Meanwhile Bilbo himself is standing off to the side and away from the rowdy mayhem, seemingly completely forgotten by the merry company of dwarves and glad for it. He was glad that the dwarves were such an oblivious and apparently forgiving bunch, but something felt off about this entire affair. No one had made any mention of '_adventures_' or Bilbo's refusing of their own; it was unnerving him a bit.

Contemplating who to bribe to help him clean his home Under-Hill tomorrow and how exactly to do it, Bilbo leans back against the closet with a sigh. No rest for those plagued by exceptional bad luck and unlikely situations caused by such, it seemed.

Then Bilbo stiffens, and _completely_ ignores the dwarves for the first time tonight in favour of paying attention to something else that did _not _belong amongst Bag End or with dwarves _but was here anyway_. It felt a little like a manifestation of quietness itself – the tense calm of an empty house with only the faint sounds of rustling leaves from outside and the occasional creak of furniture preventing an unnatural and nerve-wracking lack of sound.

_It's... elusive... and familiar... and behind me(?) and I'd recognize that bloody Unnoticeable knack anywhere! _

Bilbo casts a hasty glance at the Notice of the dwarves, which were more like horns in their '_sound' _than the bells of hobbits, and pulls his velvety Unnoticeable-ness around him. Not enough to prevent him from being Noticed visually, but enough so that he would be more easily considered part of the scenery than he already was, and twisting his knack slightly to keep any abnormally large dwarf ears from paying any notice to his words. He's not entirely sure about the Noticing abilities of dwarves, nor how exactly to shift his knack to go Unnoticed _exactly _as he desires to, but Bilbo has enough pure power in his knack to think about any needed tweaks much _later_.

Preparations complete and with no Gandalf in sight at the moment, the gentle-hobbit shifts so that he's leaning a shoulder against the door frame of the closet he had been leaning on. Bilbo opens it _just a bit, _just enough to be properly heard by the occupant – _the stowaway –_ within.

"Olly!" Bilbo hisses in a furious demand. "_What _in_ all _of Middle Earth and by _all _of Yavanna's graces _do you think you're doing here_? You should have left _hours _ago!"

If a closet door could manage to sulk, this one would be doing so from exposure to the _pure unhappy sulk _of it's occupant from being discovered. The pout in the silence between Bilbo's question and the younger hobbit's answer was truly without equal in its expression.

Finally, an answer grudgingly came – very quietly and tinged with the faint warble of Unnoticeable-ness, "Wanted to see dwarves, Mister Bilbo."

Bilbo could feel his forehead _throb. _"I can't imagine how the _inside _of _my closet _would offer a better view than watching them _at the inn _or _on their way here!_" Then another thought struck and the gentle-hobbit groans. "Does your mother know where you are right now?"

The silence from within the closet was answer enough.

"Bloody hills, Olly!" Bilbo exclaims with a hiss. Olive Millwater, mother of the stowaway in his closet, had not been particularly appreciative of his presence in her daughter's life and he sincerely doubted that the woman would be willing to let this go no matter whose fault it was.

"No swearin', Mister Bilbo," Olly scolds from inside the closet.

Bilbo sighs. He's been doing that far too often today and he'd _really _like to stop.

"Make yourself as Unnoticeable as you can manage when I tell you to, and then you're going to make a run for the door when I give the signal," Bilbo commands. He doesn't know what business these dwarves are up to or what their adventure is, but if Gandalf's involved then Bilbo wants to keep fauntlings far from it.

Thus, Bilbo is most displeased and surprised when Olly's response is just, "No." He is immediately reminded of why he is grateful to be without spawn of his own, and distinctly regretful that he had not had the foresight to see to it that he didn't ever have to deal with the stubborn offspring of _other people. _

"What _do_ you mean '_no_'?"

"Means m'not gettin' out of this closet, Mister Bilbo. Lovely word 'no' is; a refusal, uh uh, not happening, try somebody else."

He is also reminded of why he can only handle so much of the ever inquisitive and stubborn Oleandra Millwater. "Olly..." Bilbo tries again.

"But m'guessin' you don't have anybody else in your closets. Tough luck, Mister Bilbo."

"Olly..."

"Not going of my own free will an' you can't make me. You'll have to drag me out in front of all them dwarves, as Noticeable as the day I was born. Very embarrassing that would be, I think."

Bilbo exhales roughly. It's a standstill and they both know it. While Olly definitely doesn't want to be dragged out fully Noticeable in front of thirteen dwarves, especially given that neither of them have any idea how the dwarves will react, he has no guarantee that she's bluffing. Bilbo can't drag her out of here without someone Noticing _something, _and he doesn't want to do any dragging in the first place, so he'll just have to wait until a better opportunity.

It's a bit impressive that she managed to stay hidden for so long without him, Belle, or anybody else cluing in, though. He's _quite _sure that the dwarves opened this closet to look for chairs, but it wouldn't have been hard for Olly to hide behind a box and make herself Unnoticeable.

"How long have you been in there?" Bilbo asks curiously, ignoring the annoying smugness of Olly's Unnoticeable-ness for his own benefit. Her Unnoticeable-ness is regretfully easy to pass over sometimes, given the feel of it, but this is the first time she's slipped by him so completely.

He blames the dwarves.

"Dunno," Olly replies from within the closet. "Since before Missus Bell left. You're _really _boring to watch an' listen to, did you know that, Mister Bilbo? I can see out through the edge here, and it's like when Bobbin's brother is in love again. You just sort of _sigh _and _sulk_, like _for forever, _and it's _really boring_."

Bilbo does not know how to reply to this, especially since she's right.

"And then the dwarves show up and they're all _really loud. _Do you know what kind of adventure they're going on Mister Bilbo? They don't seem to be talking about it."

"Ah, so it was the adventure you were after then," Bilbo realizes, "not dwarves."

"...maaaaybe," Olly replies, and if she's not shrugging while she does, he'll let Sackville-Bagginses into his cutlery drawer. He can _feel _the shrug.

Ah, the joys of curious and stubborn teenage hobbits.

"So, Mister Baggins, what _are _these dwarves up to? Y'know, besides eating you out of home and hole? Ooh - did you see the fat one catch that thrown egg?"

"I don't know in terms of any _quests, _since it's none of my business. Tracking mud into my floor and abusing my furniture. And yes, I did see that," Bilbo answers, finally turning an eye back towards the rowdy dwarves. There's no change, they're still loud and somewhat disgusting, but the one with the star-shaped hairdo is_ covertly_ giving him curious looks.

The looks are obvious enough to be noticed though, so Bilbo has a feeling he's intentionally being informed he's being observed. Either there's nothing left to be observed (unlikely) or it's a form of intimidation to see if he reacts, or both. When the dwarf turns back to his companions, Bilbo ups his Unnoticeable-ness and promptly decides to ignore the looks, as he has no desire to play any confusticated games. It will likely appear that he simply left the room.

Speaking of playing games... Gandalf is still not at the table with the dwarves, which is surprising. The wizard had excused himself to enjoy a pipe in the night air about half-an-hour ago and has not yet returned. Bilbo hadn't wanted the wizard in his home any longer than necessary, so he hadn't argued, but now... the gentle-hobbit is feeling unnerved at what the wizard may be up to.

"Mister Bilbo?"

"Hmm? Sorry, Olly. What was that?"

"Just, ah... so you're _not _going on any adventures, Mister Bilbo?" Olly asks, and there's an uncertainty to her tone that Bilbo does _not _like.

"No. I refused the dwarves this morning," he replies, dread building in his stomach for reasons unknown, and yet also unsurprising, to him. "I'm afraid I don't and won't have any fabulous tales to tell about dwarves and their quests, Olly. Sorry."

"That's weird," Olly says bluntly.

_That _grabs his attention. "Why?" Bilbo questions warily, some small part of him feeling like he already knew the nature of the answer and that a wizard had been involved.

Olly's Unnoticeable-ness shifts a bit in her uncomfortableness. "Well... there's a lot that you can hear about other people's business when you're hiding all Unnoticeable and they don't know you're there," she begins. "And little ol' me _might've _heard two of them dwarves saying that you didn't seem much like a burglar..."

_Yes, this is going _ _ **exactly ** _ _where Bilbo doesn't want it to. _

"...and then two _other _dwarves saying that you probably wouldn't last a week into their _quest. _Which is rubbish, Mister Bilbo, you'd leave 'em all behind, I know it! But there _might _have _also _been something about 'meddlesome wizards who can't take no for an answer' and _well..._"

Bilbo can feel a ridiculously heavy metaphorical weight making itself comfortable on his shoulders. "Just say it, Olly," he exhales roughly. "Just... just say it."

"Okay," Olly replies weakly. "I _think _that Mister Gandalf told whichever dwarves you refused the quest to that there was... um... still time to convince you, and um... so not to tell the others that _you _said you wouldn't be coming. Uh, but I'm _not totally _sure so... uh, _maybe _there's nothing to it, then?"

"What did you overhear _exactly_, Olly?" Bilbo demands, trying not to explode with pure anger at the way these _cretins _think they can _manipulate his life _to their _stupid whims_.

"Um, I'm _really sorry, _Mister Bi-"

"Oh. Oh, Olly, don't worry," Bilbo soothes quickly, reigning in his temper and his Unnoticeable-ness before he does anything incredibly asinine. "I'm not angry at you. I'm very, _very _grateful that you were looking out for me, even if you are hiding in my closet when you shouldn't be... and calling me boring," Bilbo adds self-consciously.

Olly giggles.

"Well, dunno what was said _exactly_," she tells him. "But them dwarves, most of them at least, definitely think you're still going with them on the quest. They're a bit unhappy with you for not being available for dinner _yesterday_ too."

_Gandalf probably told them that I'm 'touchy' or something while he was at it, so that's why none of them are actually talking to me, _Bilbo realizes. _Damn that bastard_.

"Thank you, Olly. Now... as soon as the opportunity pops up, I want to get you out of that closet and out of Bag End," Bilbo tells her. "So I'd like you to listen to me when I tell you do to something. I know you want to hear about whatever these dwarves are up to, but I don't think they're up to anything good for fauntlings to be around."

_I also don't want any fauntlings to witness what I'm about to do to the wizard either, although I'm certain it's going to be nothing compared to what'll happen when Olive Millwater gets her hands on me tomorrow. _

"Probably not," Olly agrees grumpily. Whether she's grumpy at the idea of not getting what she hid in a closet for or that thirteen dwarves have taken over his home accompanied by a wizard with an _agenda, _Bilbo doesn't know.

"Promise, Olly?"

There's a heavy, Unnoticeable-warbled sigh from the closet. "Promise, Mister Bilbo," she agrees, sounding more than a bit reluctant. Then suddenly her tone switches to an unhappy whine. "Can you go yell at the wizard again, now? 'S not fair. If I told lies _half _as bad as his, my mum would wash my mouth out with _soap_."

Bilbo smiles, in a manner that would send a shiver up any Sackville-Bagginses' spine. "Oh, I plan to," Bilbo assures her. "Ah, and before I go, are you hungry, at all? I might lose a limb trying to get you food but as your unintentional host...?"

"Oh, no need, Mister Bilbo. I helped myself earlier while you were... uh... brooding. Still got lots in here. I'm good. Just fine, here."

"Ah. Well.. good. I suppose I'm off to scream at a wizard, then."

* * *

Bilbo slips out of his dining room without telling any of the dwarves where he's going. For one, he doesn't want their attention on him. Secondly, he's not actually sure he could manage to get their attention in the first place. Thirdly, since he would have to stop being Unnoticeable, it might seem like he'd just appeared from nowhere in case any of the dwarves were actually keeping an eye on him. So he just walked out, still Unnoticeable.

He hopes that all his dishes and furniture will still be in one piece after he's finished screaming at the wizard. He also hopes that he himself will still be in one piece after screaming at the wizard, he's so _blasted angry _that it's a risk he's willing to take.

It's rather unbelievable to him that Gandalf would do something like this, but he's also not at all surprised. Perhaps that it's that he's too angry to be surprised, but considering of his distant memories of the grey wizard and all the rumours that surround the old man, there's nothing really to be surprised _about_.

It's not exactly as though the wizard has a fantastic track record for _minding his own bloody business, _when a person actually thought about it. But to completely ignore and disrespect Bilbo's autonomy like this is... is... there _aren't words for it. _

Bilbo, dropping his Unnoticeable-ness, opens his own front door and sees Gandalf pacing about his front garden, muttering unintelligibly, and makes sure to firmly shut the door behind him. At this noise, Gandalf stops walking about and looks up, and sees Bilbo standing there practically _shaking _with rage.

Then, the wizard has the _sheer gall _to state, "My dear Bilbo, what on earth is the matter?" All with a straight face, absurdly convincing innocence, and seemingly honest curiosity - as though he _shouldn't _already know.

And well... Bilbo sort of loses it.

...

In his defence, it's been a _really _long day.

* * *

Ori, despite the mix-up with the burglar's house yesterday that he _still _can't quite wrap his head around, is having a wonderful time. The food is absolutely delicious, the company is rowdy but otherwise friendly, and he's still in a state of awe and disbelief that he's being '_permitted' _by his brothers to be a part of this quest.

He's looking for their host so he can ask what to do with his plate – his late mother and Dori had not raised an ill-mannered dwarf – but he can't seem to find the halfling anywhere in the cozy hobbit hole. Ori is wondering whether or not to enlist Nori, who would probably take up any excuse to poke around the home of their mysterious burglar, when he hears voices from outside the green door.

_Raised voices. _

The dwarfish scholar can't actually hear any words, thanks to the combined efforts of the rowdy company and the muffling effect of the door. It _sounds _like their host, although Ori hasn't been able to commit every aspect of Bilbo Baggins to memory yet (as is his duty as the recorder of this quest). Adding in the fact that Gandalf excused himself outside awhile back, outside is probably where the wizard and their host can be found.

Ori, clutching his plate, opens the round door. He is neither prepared for nor expecting what he finds on the other side of it, which is yelling, _a lot _of yelling.

"-ICH BEGS THE _BLOODY QUESTION; _WHAT'S THE BLOODY MATTER WITH YOU? DO YOU HAVE SELECTIVE HEARING THAT PREVENTS YOU FROM HEARING THE _ACTUAL OPINIONS AND DECISIONS _OF OTHER PEOPLE?"

Down by the property gate, the burglar – their small halfling burglar that Ori knows most of the company believes won't survive the quest, based on what they're seen of halflings and the burglar so far – is very _calmly shouting _at the _wizard_. Most of the company is clearly, _ridiculously _wrong.

It was loud, in a controlled sort of way, and _awful_, in the terrible way that conveyed you should be very, _very _ashamed of yourself and know _exactly _why already. The sort that everybody seems to take a mandatory class for right before they become parents. But somehow, every syllable spoken and every line of the halfling's body managed to also be very,_ very_... _angry. _

"SIGNING PEOPLE UP FOR _INSANITY _WITHOUT THEIR PERMISSION BECAUSE _THERE'S NO WAY IN HELL THEY'D ACTUALLY AGREE! _DO YOU JUST WALK INTO PEOPLE'S HOUSES WITHOUT WARNING AND INVITE YOURSELF INTO DINNER THINKING THAT'S ACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOUR? _OH WAIT! _THAT SOUNDS _REALLY BLOODY FAMILIAR _FOR _SOME REASON!_"

The tall elderly man stood there with, from what Ori could see in the darkness only lit by the window and the door, a very red face and a lit pipe in hand – the end of which he was chewing on. The company's wizard said absolutely nothing in the face of such... utter _ferocity_ and _Ori could not blame him at all; _he was too busy being surprised and horrified that he'd found someone who could be more terrifyingly furious _and_ disapproving (at the same time) than Dori.

It _was _always the quiet ones.

"I DIDN'T THINK I COULD BE _ANY _MORE OBVIOUS WHEN I GO UP TO THE PEOPLE OF CHARGE OF THIS _MADNESS _AND _CLEARLY STATE _THAT I _DO NOT _WANT TO BE INVOLVED! MAYBE I SHOULD PUT A SIGN ON MY GATE TO WARN PEOPLE OFF _BEFOREHAND_, HMM? 'NO ADMITTANCE, _EVEN _ON ADVENTURE BUSINESS'?OTHERWISE _JUST HOW_ ARE THEY SUPPOSED TO _KNOW FOR SURE _THAT I DON'T WANT ANY OF THIS FUNNY BUSINESS?"

Here, the wizard tried to speak up.

"Bilbo, I-"

It didn't work.

"NO! SORRY, I'M _SPEAKING AT THE MOMENT. _I DON'T KNOW IF YOU'VE BEEN LISTENING, BUT I'D REALLY APPRECIATE IT IF _YOU BLOODY WELL PAID ATTENTION TO WHAT I WAS SAYING_. INSTEAD OF, I DON'T KNOW, HEARING CERTAIN PARTS AND _MAKING UP THE REST_."

"It's not-"

"BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT SEEMS TO BE HAPPENING FROM MY SIDE OF THINGS. ESPECIALLY WHERE YOU'RE TELLING PEOPLE THAT I'M GOING ALONG WITH THINGS IN THE HOPE THAT I'M TOO POLITE TO CONTRADICT THEM UNTIL IT'S TOO BLOODY LATE OR SOMETHING."

"Ah, well-"

"WHICH YOU BETTER HAVE A _DAMN _GOOD EXPLANATION FOR. WHICH I'M NOT SURE I'LL ACTUALLY PAY ATTENTION TO _CONSIDERING _THAT I'M NOT ENTIRELY CERTAIN YOU WON'T AVOID ANSWERING PROPERLY, AND THEN _CONTINUE GOING BEHIND MY BACK _REGARDLESS OF ANYTHING I SAY."

"That's-"

At this point, Ori was still shock still, but also incredibly impressed at their burglar's ability to be coherent and eloquent when so clearly enraged. It almost seemed as though a great deal of thought and practice had gone into this beforehand.

"AND I SWEAR ON EVERYTHING GREEN THAT IF YOU SO MUCH AS _MENTION _MY _MOTHER_, YOU'RE NOT SEEING THE INSIDE OF BAG END AGAIN UNLESS IT'S OVER MY _DEAD BODY –_ AND YOUR DAMNED DWARVES WILL BE JOINING YOU SHORTLY."

The wizard frowned at the mention of the burglar's mother, and straightened up more at the idea that the halfling would be barring him from... Baggined? Baggend? Gandalf seemed still suitably cowed but also a tad indignant.

"You would do such a thing to your guests, Bilbo, my boy?"

Their burglar just... _stared _for a moment. Then bellows, "HAVE YOU _SEEN_ THE STATE OF MY CARPET? MUD; TROD INTO IT! _TROD INTO! _THEY SHOULD BE BLOODY _THANKING _ME THAT I'M NOT SENDING THEM A BILL FOR WHAT'S BEEN DONE TO MY FLOOR - _AND _MY PLUMBING!"

"Oh, well-"

"I'VE TOSSED OUT _FAMILY _FOR LESS; _FAMILY!_"

Ori _really _feels like he's interrupting, and has gained a terrible inkling of what's going on that he doesn't think he'd enjoy thinking about. But it's sort of hard to tear his eyes away from this – and he still has to ask what to do with his plate (that he's clutching quite strongly now).

"I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU THINK YOU ARE OR, MORE IMPORTANTLY, WHO YOU THINK _I AM_, BUT ALL THIS MEDDLING AND MANIPULATIVE RUBBISH STOPS _NOW. _IT CROSSED A LINE THE SECOND IT STARTED, BUT ANY FURTHER AND _SOMETHING'S GOING TO SNAP. _IT'S NOT GOING TO WORK WITH ME, IT IS QUITE HONESTLY, DOING THE _OPPOSITE _OF WORKING WITH ME. SO IF YOU WANT ME TO EVEN CONSIDER NOT- _Oh... _uh, hello."

Ori startles, as the burglar finally appears to notice him and the halfling's rounded face immediately becomes redder than a tomato.

"Ah," the burglar says, clearly having lost his eloquence and appearing to _completely ignore the wizard now_. "Um, well... this is rather, um, embarrassing. I'm sorry you had to hear that."

Totally unprepared to be addressed by this friendly looking person that Ori is having trouble associating with the fearsome figure from moments before, Ori _squeaks_. Oh, now that is certainly something to be embarrassed about while they're on the subject.

The halfling's brow furrows in confusion. "Pardon?" Then his expression turns to one of concern and preparedness to be quite cross. "Is everything alright in there? Has something happened?"

"No! No! No, no, no! No need to come inside!" Ori manages to get out, far more higher-pitched than he'd like. He's supposed to be going on a quest, _damn it. _

"O-kay...?"

Ori shakes his head firmly. "Nope, no problem! You just... go about your business."

The burglar steps towards Ori, and Ori will later _insist _that he _did not _step backwards automatically out of some kind of reflex. At the step backwards, the burglar stops and just... stares at Ori. And Ori just stares back, before giving up all attempts at dignity after what he'd just witnessed, turning around, and walking back inside_ immediately_.

He's _not _running away.

Okay, so he might be running away.

Nori's not the only one in their family with a sense for knowing when to book it.

* * *

Bilbo watches the young dwarf internally panic before all but _running _back inside, and all he can think is that something's gone terribly wrong in there and now he'll have to deal with whatever this '_something'_ is too.

_Damn it all. _

Although he would _really _like to continue yelling at the wizard, the idea that something's gone wrong inside his home – which currently contains thirteen dwarves and nearly everything he owns of monetary and sentimental value – is too daunting to let it go. So he rushes after the green-looking young dwarf who's gone back inside, ignorant of the fact that Gandalf follows him inside and shuts the door.

Bilbo is currently too busy to notice Gandalf because, pretty much as soon as he stepped inside, Fíli grabbed the plate from the hands of the fleeing young dwarf with an, "Here you go, Ori, give it to me." Then the blond dwarf had _thrown _the plate to the young brunet dwarf that he'd arrived with, Kíli, who had spun and tossed it _Yavanna knew where. _

Then Fíli had thrown a _second_ plate after it nearly instantly following the first.

_Thrown. _

And then some of the other dwarves had immediately _joined in_.They are _throwing_his _dishes; _his _mother's _West Farthing crockery that she'd proudly said to be a hundred years old and that she'd been given on her wedding day. He's too shocked to say anything really.

Fíli and Kíli are _practically _juggling the plates and bowls as they toss them about, even Gandalf (_why _isn't the wizard _doing _something) has to duck out of the way of the flying crockery, and Bilbo has no idea what's becoming of his dishes because he's too busy _dodging _his own dinnerware. Then, the dwarves still seated at his dining table are stomping their feet, and banging their fists and forks on his table.

During _all this_, Thorin – _leader_ of this company who are guests in Bilbo's home – is standing off to the side with a smoking pipe in hand, and a distinctly _amused _look on his face at the utter horror of his hobbit host.

It's easier to get past his shock to automatically tell the dwarves banging things on his table not to do that "else you'll blunt the knives" while he's panicking trying to figure out whether or not it's worth the risk to try to interfere (on one hand, they could break everything if he lets them continues, on the other, they could break everything if he gets in their way). His mother said it to him as a child and he hears it, and sometimes has to say it, at every meal with fauntlings when some little Took cousin eventually tries to try a sword fight with butter knives in time-honoured Took-ish tradition.

"Ooh, d'ya hear that lads?" the strangely-hatted dwarf says (the one who tried to use a _book _as a _coaster_) in a mischievous manner. "He says we'll _blunt the knives._"

And that... that is when the _singing _starts.

It's called 'That's what Bilbo Baggins hates' apparently, and he cannot think of a more apt title.

All the dwarves know the words and toss his dinnerware about in complicated, juggling ways like they've done this before; they stamp their feet, bang their fists on the table, and a flute even gets pulled out at some point.

After this seemingly very _rehearsed _song that seems to have been written specifically with _Bilbo_ and _this situation _in mind , Bilbo is left standing in front of a large and _clean _pile of dishes on his table in tall stacks and the company of dwarves gives a great cheer. Then the dwarves disperse with laughter and merriment, heading for the parlour or to cause more destruction to Bilbo's home probably.

Bilbo is too lost in thought to notice the matching happy and proud grins that Fíli and Kíli give him, or the general good mood and smiling faces of all the dwarves (sans Thorin, who disappeared during the song), or the hopeful look that young dwarf who tried to run away is sending him. He does not even really register the friendly slaps on the back he gets as some of the dwarves walk past him, except to acknowledge to himself that they're not for those with weak backs.

No, as soon as the dwarves are off doing something else now, Bilbo looks blankly at the grey wizard now standing and smoking by the tall stacks of dinnerware. Gandalf is giving him a simultaneously appraising and apologetic stare, puffing on his pipe, but says nothing.

Then Bilbo says in a cold tone that loses life with every word, "Give me _one _good reason."


	14. Proper Considerations

_Disclaimer: There comes a moment during every Middle-Earth movie, where I must decide whether or not to continue appreciating the eye-candy or be overwhelmingly jealous that these men and women are all so much prettier than I am. Like, Orlando Bloom, man, he has to be stopped. _

_I don't care what your sexual orientation is, if you say you don't like to look at him or wouldn't want to be him, you'd be lying even worse than me if I said I owned any of Mister Tolkien's works or was profiting from this._

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: An Expected Party**

**Part III: Proper Considerations**

_In which Bilbo clues into what's happening, is thoroughly suspected, gets moved by a song, and has a decision to make. _

_Also, taking advice from the person hiding in your closet probably isn't the brightest of ideas, but that doesn't always been it's a bad one. _

* * *

Bilbo has had _enough_. He's sick of dealing with people's problems; he's sick of other people coming to him asking that he solve their problems. He's tired of being pushed and prodded about, and having his home invaded and his things tossed about. And he is _especially _out of patience in regards to manipulative wizards and rowdy dwarves.

It's clear enough that they don't know a thing about hobbit knacks, and they've only seen enough to think that Bilbo is just _really _odd and probably mad – which everybody thinks _anyway_ so it's not much of a loss. He's _definitely _not going on their quest, whatever it is.

He cannot think of a single good reason to continue having them all in his home. And not kick them all out with much yelling and probably extreme violence.

So he turns to Gandalf, the bugger who got him into this mess, and demands, "Give me one good reason."

Bilbo can't come up with a reason, and he needs a reason because tossing them all out is a recipe for an even worse disaster, so _someone else_ will have to do it for him – it's simple logic. Someone else like Gandalf, if the blasted old man wants to continue whatever foolishness and meddling that he's up to. And, deep inside, the gentle-hobbit is very much hoping that the wizard won't be able to.

Chewing on his smoking pipe again, the wizard just gives Bilbo that look that suggests the old man is staring into the very depths of his soul. Bilbo, even after only seeing the wizard again for the first time in a _long time_, hates that look with a fierce and unyielding passion.

"I think, Master Baggins," the wizard says after a short while, "that this is a conversation that should be continued away from curious ears."

* * *

When Gandalf the Grey takes Bilbo Baggins outside Bag End to attempt to explain the mysterious quest of a company of dwarves, and perhaps persuade Bilbo to join them, the wizard starts at the place where one _should_ start when introducing something to someone without any context for the situation.

Gandalf will start at the beginning of things, with the tale of the great and prosperous kingdom of Erebor and its neighbouring city of Dale. Perhaps he hopes that the great and terrible tale will give Bilbo some sympathy for the plight and the quest of the Company, or maybe that a calm voice and sad story will give Bilbo some time to _calm down_.

They seat themselves on the bench outside Bilbo's home, and the wizard puffs his pipe trying to ignore Bilbo's icy glare before finding a good place to start the epic tale. It begins sure to be a very grand and impressive telling, but it is not very long, however, before Bilbo interrupts it.

"_Oh_!" the hobbit exclaims suddenly. Then demands incredulously, "Is this about _Smaug_?"

* * *

The day that Erebor fell to Smaug was news that spread understandably far and wide. Despite the tension and general resentment between most races, people usually consider it important news that a _dragon_ decided to attack and practically decimate the richest kingdom in all of Middle Earth and its neighbouring city. That it was a dwarfish kingdom and a city of man was of no consequence, it was still _damn hot _gossip.

It was especially hard for the news not to get out when the attack left the survivors, _large_ fractions of both Dale and Erebor, completely homeless and searching desperately for new residences and means of survival. The dwarves were forced to travel quite far to reach the other colonies of their people, and then the following terrible war and pyrrhic victory at Dimrill Dale happened on top of everything else.

That kind of thing tends to get out – if only as scintillating gossip. People _like _dragons, in theory and from a distance.

When the gossip was still fresh, even the Shire had been alerted to the news. Passing caravans of dwarves and other travellers brought the news to the hobbits, either directly or through the town of Bree. By that point, the dragon was more of a tall tale than a truthful story, but the Shirelings still heard about it nevertheless. However, the great worm became a forgotten story in the green land as the generations passed.

But 171 years is no time at all to an elf, and there were more than a few in Rivendell who bothered to keep themselves apprised of what happened beyond their borders. The issue of Erebor actually managed to weaken the relationship between the Rivendell and the Greenwood elves for a variety of reasons, mostly because of misunderstandings.

About thirteen years ago from the disaster of a dinner happening at Bag End, an elf in Greenwood sent a particularly scathing letter to their third cousin in Rivendell. Their relationship had been slowly deteriorating for a long time, especially since they only sent each other letters every five to ten years or so, and recently comments had been made that had been the final straw that broke the oliphaunt's back. Tempers snapped – and it just so happened that Bilbo Baggins was present when the Rivendell elf received the letter in question.

You probably wouldn't expect one of the most dignified people you knew to suddenly start swearing in frustration and shouting insults to the ceiling while going through their correspondence, but it happens occasionally. It gave Bilbo a totally new perspective of his usually calm and unruffled friend. Nobody really loses it quite like a totally calm and collected person.

As anyone would probably do in that situation, Bilbo asked his friend what on Middle Earth was the matter. However, soon into the elf's explanation, Bilbo was forced to stop his friend due to having _no idea_ what his friend was ranting about. It was quickly discovered that Bilbo lacked all context needed to understand the precarious and complex relationship between his friend and their third cousin, which began with the recent issue (to an elf anyway) that had been affecting the already fairly bad relationship between Rivendell and Greenwood, Erebor.

The hobbit sat back in wonder and horror as his friend launched into the fantastic tale of the terrible greed of a dwarfish king, the awe-inspiring Arkenstone, the toxic worship of gold for the sake of gold, and the desolation it brought upon the people of Erebor and Dale in the form of the fearsome fire drake, Smaug.

The crux of the issue between his friend and their cousin turned out to be the reaction of the Greenwood king to the dragon's invasion. Apparently, King Thranduil and his army rode out to assist the dwarves, took one look at the broken doors of Erebor, and then _turned away_. The cousin felt their king's reaction was justified, but Bilbo's friend didn't understand why any king worth his crown would turn away from _so many_ people – families and _children –_ in such desperate need.

They'd been subtly poking each other about the issue for nearly_ 160 years_. Only an old agreement to try and avoid topics they disagreed upon but felt passionately about, forced upon them by their mothers for the sake of public decency, had kept them from outright argument and loud public cursing previously. It also kept them from resolving anything, because not sharing any information also led to a large misunderstanding of the situation from both ends for the cousins.

This is how Bilbo learned a great many things that he had been previously unaware of. So unfortunately for his future dealings with the dwarves currently inside his home, his first hearing of the tale was an outsider's perspective to the event – an _elvish _outsider's perspective, and not even a _Greenwood elf's _perspective at that.

This is also how the relationship between Rivendell and Greenwood started to take a turn for the better. Which is another story, but also therefore, this incident would lead to the gentle-hobbit having quite the insight into the politics between various kingdoms and the leaders of Middle Earth.

So, thirteen years later, the gentle-hobbit knows quite a bit more than the grey wizard would ever have expected him to. Bilbo Baggins catches on quite easily once Erebor is mentioned, which is not surprising when he currently has thirteen dwarves in his home, and they're on an 'adventure' that Gandalf has already stated will have a mysterious 'beast accustomed to the smell of dwarf.'

Honestly, with enough information, it's not exactly _hard_ to connect the dots. Bilbo takes one look at the surprised expression at the wizard's face and has to abandon his anger in favour of immediately wondering if the world has somehow been given the impression he's both a pushover_ and _a dimwit.

Really! He certainly wasn't _expecting _this to be about Smaug and Erebor of all things, but it _is_ fairly obvious.

Meanwhile nearby, an eavesdropping dwarf nearly topples over in surprise.

* * *

Nori would not describe his ears as curious, but he would probably neglect to mention that this would be because when you took the statement literally, ears themselves could not actually _be _curious. Dwarves could be curious, yes, and also yes, Nori was a curious dwarf, but he could honestly state that he did not have curious ears.

But truthfully, Nori doesn't know how _any _dwarf could somehow _not _be curious about the incredibly elusive and confusing halfling known as Bilbo Baggins. If the rest of the Company weren't being practically driven out of their minds from curiosity and bewilderment, then they clearly _weren't paying attention_.

Oh things had started out innocently enough. Gandalf said that it would be easy enough to find their burglar's home. The wizard said that there would be a mark on the door advertising his availability, that the wizard had put there himself since the halfling did not have one up himself. Nori had privately thought this was quite sensible of their burglar, since advertising yourself to be an 'Expert Treasure-hunter' on your own front door was a special kind of idiocy.

Again in truth, Nori had been somewhat edgy accepting that the wizard had been the one to procure a burglar and that none of the Company had had any say in the matter. Sure, Gandalf was clever and scheming, anybody could see that, but Nori hadn't been sure that the wizard could judge the skill of an 'Expert Treasure-hunter' properly.

The best way to judge anyone you hired was a demonstration of skill prior to hiring them. Nori liked to say that he, when working with anyone, liked to see proof that his coworkers had both eyes before trusting them to watch his back. You didn't hire a chef before tasting their food, and you didn't buy from a blacksmith before seeing their work. Whether the more upstanding side of the world would believe it or not, it worked mostly the same way with the less upstanding members of society as well.

At least, it did for the good ones who liked not getting caught. Seriously, he could not stress enough just how important competency is.

Nori had tried to reserve judgement on the matter, but he had approached their burglar's home expecting a fool with fumbling fingers and clumsy feet as the wizard's choice. In his defence, what Nori knew of halflings and Gandalf's description of their burglar as a 'somewhat sensitive and peculiar individual' totally justified this expectation.

When the Company arrived yesterday night to find Gandalf's mark exactly where he'd said it to be but no home or burglar to be found, Nori had been _impressed_. He hadn't had a clue what was happening – and he'd been as pissed as anyone else not to be getting food or bed – but he'd been thoroughly approving of this demonstration of their burglar's work.

Whoever could steal their own home out from under a wizard's nose was clearly a _highly qualified _individual. Especially since Gandalf had seemed so utterly confused! Although, it wasn't very welcoming of their burglar not to meet them at all when supposedly he should have been expecting them, Nori had found it _hilarious_.

It wasn't until Nori poked around a bit that he'd stopped finding the entire situation funny and started to take things more seriously. He would have done so anyway, but Balin had expressed a certain amount of _concern _about their missing burglar and that had alerted Nori that something odd was afoot.

It just wasn't normal for _everyone you asked _(and Nori had asked a _lot _of different halflings) to immediately recognize who you were talking about. Bilbo Baggins wasn't just well-known around the Shire, he was _infamous_. The flicker of recognition in the eyes of the halflings had been instantaneous, and their attitude towards Nori had nearly always immediately changed, sometimes to the point of a total personality flip.

Suddenly they had other business to attend to, or they had absolutely nothing at all to say about Bilbo Baggins, or they had nothing but infuriatingly vague yet wonderful things to say about him, or they didn't know him that well and Nori should ask somebody else, or they claimed they didn't even _know _him even if they had _just admitted to knowing him_.

Nori had somehow managed to get a lot of information even though most of the halflings, especially the ones inside their inn, had been unwilling to talk. He was _good _at overhearing important little tidbits, and he was _good _at interrogating people and listening to what they didn't say.

Bilbo Baggins was an upstanding citizen who mediated issues between his fellow halflings.

Bilbo Baggins was a regular 'gentle-hobbit' who lived alone in this big place called Bag End on the top of the Hill (yes, capitalized, and yes, exactly where Gandalf's mark had been).

Bilbo Baggins was the head of the Baggins family – old money, high society halflings.

Bilbo Baggins had spent some time travelling when he was younger. Where exactly he'd gone differed depending on who you spoke to.

Bilbo Baggins, according to most, was a totally normal and average halfling, and Nori wouldn't bet half a potato on that being even remotely true.

It just wasn't _normal _for your neighbours to go shifty-eyed when they spoke of you, or for people to refuse to talk about you _no matter what _even though you were apparently _so well known _that _everybody _knew you _instantly, _no prompts or reminders needed. And there was _something up _with those halflings at the inn.

Oh but whatever this situation was, it was _fun. _

He'd reported his findings to Balin, who had informed him that their burglar had made an appearance. Apparently, their burglar had been approached about the quest _yesterday _by the wizard, _refused _the quest, and not been expecting them at all but invited them to dinner in apology _tonight_. And the mysterious halfling had given them directions that would take them to the exact same place they had been expecting his home to be yesterday.

Nori had peeked, and found a beautiful home _exactly _where there hadn't been one yesterday. A home that was _built _into the hillside and had the faded wizard's mark on the door. The burglar had managed to _hide it _and he hadn't even been _expecting them. _Suddenly the idea of a _disappearing home _wasn't much of a laughable thing, but a terrifying, _impossible _reality.

There was something strange about their burglar, something _unnatural_, Nori knew it, and he found it incredibly exhilarating. Baggins was a mystery inside a mystery that apparently even Gandalf didn't have the clues to. Nothing about him made sense to Nori... _yet_.

Baggins invited them in with what was the most well-disguised reluctance Nori had ever seen; he stood up to the Company when they'd started pulling apart his things; he prepared them a_ feast_ of food yet he'd stopped Dori from drinking from a bottle of wine with _urgent desperation;_ he easily slips out of Nori's notice; he has _elvish things _in his home.

And, according to Ori after the dishes are done, he _yells _at wizards.

So when Nori sees the wizard take the halfling outside after the halfling has demanded that the wizard 'give him one good reason', he's not going to give that opportunity up. It's no trouble to sneak out the back door while his fellows gather in the next room.

He's not surprised to crouch in the garden and hear Gandalf start telling the story that started this mess, but it honestly throws him that the halfling so immediately narrows in on the nature on their quest when – according to Gandalf and _the halfling himself –_ Baggins only heard about the idea of their quest (and nothing else) _yesterday_.

"Is this about _Smaug_?" the halfling demands incredulously, almost _angrily_. Then gives the wizard a disbelieving look when Gandalf just looks surprised, like their burglar doesn't understand why this is happening to him right now.

"You-you were going to _bully me _into a quest that involved me _stealing... _when-when I'm not a thief or a... a... _burglar_ of any kind! And, from what I can guess, from a _dragon!_" The halfling sputters furiously, jumping to his hairy feet. "Why... why in the _bloody hills _would _anyone _try and _do anything _against a _dragon_?"

_Good question_, Nori thinks, and then, _huh_. Balin told him that Gandalf insisted that they not tell the rest of the Company that Baggins refused the quest because there was still a chance of convincing him, but that Baggins_ isn't _actually a burglar is... surprising.

"And with _thirteen dwarves_?" Baggins shouts, unwilling to wait for a response. "What on Middle Earth are you going to do against a _dragon_ with _thirteen dwarves_?"

_Another good question. _

The wizard opens his mouth to reply, but the halfling just holds up a hand and shakes his head. "No, whatever this nonsense is, _no_. I'm not hearing any of it. I am _going _to _go inside_, and I am _going _to _try_ and survive the rest of this _mistake _of a dinner! Maybe _then _I'll hear what you have to say, because I'll need a _good laugh_, but until then... _no_."

And that's _it_.

Baggins just turns around and _walks away _from the wizard without another word. Not entirely unexpected, considering the rest of the Company seems to have been trying to make the poor bugger _snap _for leaving them high and dry yesterday (even though he apparently _didn't actually know to expect them_).

But what _is _unexpected is that halfway to the door, the halfling stops and says mildly, "And to the dwarf listening in on this conversation, I would rather that you _get the bloody hills out_ of my tomatoes _right bloody now_."

_How the h-_

"I'm serious. They're prize-winners and I'm rather proud of them. Thank you." Then the halfling 'gentle-hobbit' walks to his round green door, opens it, and steps back inside.

Nori nearly nearly falls over again, because _what_, but he recovers quickly. Gaping and gasping is for amateurs, this is _unexpected _and _strange _but he's just got to roll with getting caught at this point. Still, he only _barely_ manages to carefully pull himself out of the tomatoes nevertheless so he can make his way back inside. He makes a point to 'do a Baggins' and ignores the burning sensation of Gandalf's stare through the darkness as he slinks his way back towards the back door as he hears the humming start.

Bilbo Baggins is still a mystery within a mystery – he's a not-a-burglar with a disappearing home and neighbours who won't talk plainly about him. He confounds wizards; he knows more than you'd expect him to; he clearly regrets inviting them to dinner; he's damn good at spotting spies; he's more than a little bit _terrifying. _

And oh, but he's _fun_.

* * *

Bilbo steps back through his front door and closes it behind him. He actually doesn't want to hear any of Gandalf's explanations anymore, he just wants to get this over with so he can go scream into a pillow.

_Smaug – of all things! A great big, bloody _ _ **dragon** _ _!_

The gentle-hobbit doesn't really know what to think now, but he has a general sense of self-preservation telling him to stay the bloody hills away from anything to do with _dragons_. The arrogance of this entire situation is almost overwhelming – that these dwarves are trying to make a move against _Smaug _for one thing, and that Gandalf has been trying to manipulate Bilbo into joining them for another.

Though, he'll admit that maybe he's not giving the dwarves the benefit of the doubt that they deserve. He doesn't _know _that they're going to try and get him to _steal _from a _dragon _or anything, maybe they're... going on a quest to put up proper warning signs around Erebor or something?

_Okay, that's unrealistic and dumb._

Bilbo cannot come up with anything else the dwarves could be doing that involves Erebor, currently infested with the 'beast accustomed to the smell of dwarf', and himself as a burglar. At least, not anything specific. This quest _could _be intended to somehow help the citizens of Erebor and Bilbo agrees that that anything to help the displaced dwarves is probably built on good intentions, although probably lacking good _ideas_.

_But whatever they're up to, _he thinks, standing alone in the entry way to his home, _I want __**no **__part. I want no part in __**adventures**__, or__** burglary**__, or anything to do with bloody __**dragons**__. I __**do not care what **__they're up to. I want __**no part **__in this ridiculous __**madness**__. _

And that... that is when the _singing _starts... _again. _

* * *

Well, it starts with humming actually – a deep and rich sound that vibrates through Bilbo's home that reminds the gentle-hobbit of the dwarves' Notice horns, it feels so much the same. There's something _more _to the sound than just regular humming, something _more _that Bilbo does not recognize but can _feel _tingling in his toes and _aching _at his bones.

The gentle-hobbit walks to the archway of his parlour and peers inside. All thirteen of the dwarves are gathered there, and here's something... _different _about them now. They sit or stand in the darkened room with smoking pipes and solemn faces, lit only by the flickering fire or some few handles, but otherwise mostly cast in shadow.

Then Thorin, standing with his arm against Bilbo's mantle, right next to the elvish bow the hobbit keeps there actually, starts _singing_.

_Oh_, is all Bilbo can think. _Damn. _

Whatever is happening, it is _nothing _like the last song. The gentle-hobbit can _feel _something in the air that he _knew _was as tangible and inexplicable as Unnoticeable-ness itself, but it was also _just _beyond him and his reach and understanding. It was _rich_ and _deep, _it felt _old_ and so very, _terribly _sad, and it echoed with untold _strength _and _longing. _

As they sang, the hobbit realized that this was _their story_. This was the tale of the fall of Erebor and Dale _directly _from those who had suffered the loss and been _paying _for it ever since. This was not the disconnected telling of an elf, a being made to last the centuries almost untouched, but the memories of _mortal _beings filled with so much _pain _and _desire. _

He could feel their love of beautiful things, goblets and harps and swords, crafted by cunning and magic. Their words told of their _pride _and _joy_ in their work, for the ornate and elaborate things they made. He could feel their love for _creation_, and their pain at this heart and soul of their culture and selves _stolen _from them. All accompanied by a _terrible lust _for their_ home, _their heritage, and the _hoard of gold _they had left with it.

It awoke something new in Bilbo Baggins, although he could not have spoken of what precisely it was. Oh, it _felt _Took-ish in the sudden desire to see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking stick... but it was _deeper _than that. Bilbo had already seen mountains on small journeys with his elvish friends, been surrounded by the waterfalls of Rivendell, thoroughly disliked dark places, and he was _awful _with a sword.

No, whatever this was, it was _more _than just _singing _and Took-ish feelings. What was happening here had more to it than an _adventure_ or a wizard meddling for no good reason, and it woke something in Bilbo that was distinctly... _Bilbo. _

The gentle-hobbit, who had _never _been much of a gentle-hobbit inside, wished to do _more _than _mediate _between grown adults arguing over _cows _or deal with the frivolous _nonsense _of Baggins family dinners. He wished to do _noble _things for people, to do things where they could not, to _accomplish _things.

Bilbo wished to go out into the world again and _conquer _the mountains, and the pine-trees and waterfalls, and the caves. He wished to get out into the world again, and wield his bow and his Unnoticeable-ness freely, and retrieve masses of jewels and gold, and face dragons, and _do something _with his skills that have no use in this peaceful green land.

He wished to hit Thorin over the head for his rudeness instead of catering to his gentle-hobbit sensibilities, to stop the dwarves from doing stupid things like tossing dishes about because he _wouldn't stand for it_, and to _fight _to get these dwarves back _everything _they'd lost so they would never sing such _heartbroken, heartbreaking songs ever again_.

When silence falls and the feeling in the air returns to normal, Bilbo a_ches _with the emptiness of it and he can feel himself trembling. Whatever has just happened, it has brought forth feelings in him that he cannot be certain are entirely his own – feelings of loyalty and _longing_, of determination and _wanting –_ and it's alarming how _right _they feel.

It's _terrifying_.

A puff of smoke alerts him that the wizard came back inside sometime during the singing, and has managed to walk up behind the gentle-hobbit while Bilbo was distracted.

"Will you hear them out, Master Baggins?" Gandalf asks, so quietly that it seems magical in the way that it does not carry further than Bilbo's ears even in the complete silence.

Bilbo stares at the dwarves, all gathered more closely than before they had started their song, and takes in their solemn shadowed faces and their eyes _shining _in the dark. The rest of him knows his answer before his mind does, despite their _throwing _of dishes and _mishandling _of his things. The feelings invoked here and now are _addictive_ in their strength and sheer _ferocity – _like a thousand Unnoticeable knacks made of pure emotion and pure _life_ – and he honestly thinks that he might be persuaded to steal from a dozen dragons for... just... to keep feeling so... _terrifiedawedoverwhelmedfree..._ _**alive**_.

"Yes," he answers – _Oh Yavanna, I'm an idiot –_ less than a whisper but barely more than a breath, "I will."

* * *

"I don't know what I'm doing, Olly," Bilbo says later, Unnoticeable-ness wrapped around him, sitting on the floor and leaning against what he's mentally dubbed 'Olly's closet'. "What am I doing?"

"I don't think y'should be asking that t'somebody sitting in a closet, Mister Bilbo," the teen replies, giving an Unnoticeable-warbled yawn. "But that's just me. Coast clear yet?"

Bilbo casts a glance at Thorin and Balin, who are still having a very serious muttered conversation by his back door. It's late, _very _late, and he still hasn't had a chance to sneak Olly out yet. "Hmm? Oh... no. They're still talking."

Olly makes a harrumphing sound. "They'd better finish soon," she grumbles unhappily, her own Unnoticeable-ness reflecting her agitation and tiredness. "Mum might not have the best Noticing knack in the Shire, but she'll have had t'have noticed I'm not where I oughta be by now."

Bilbo ponders this for a bit. "Maybe I should go on their quest," he says conversationally. "Get out of the Shire. Your mother is going to have my guts for this."

"She doesn't hate you, Mister Bilbo, not that much."

"I've never had her daughter in a closet during a dinner party with dwarves before," Bilbo tells the girl. "I think the dragon gives me better odds of survival."

Giggles always sound the strangest when warped by Unnoticeable-ness in Bilbo's opinion, and Olly's are no different. Then the girl stops.

"Honestly wasn't expectin' them to be going off to fight a dragon, Mister Bilbo" Olly admits seriously. "Wouldn't have guessed it. Don't really know what t'think of that."

"Thirteen dwarves isn't going off to _fight _a dragon, Olly, it's going off to _feed _a dragon," Bilbo mutters.

He'd gone along with things and heard out what the dwarves had to say about their quest, listened to them talk about reclaiming their homeland, hidden doors, and keys – and been horrified at how eager they were without any real plan. (And even more horrified that he'd been _seriously considering _joining them.) Since they'd done it in his dining room, Olly had had a front row seat to their madness.

"They're insane if they think that the thirteen of them are going to reclaim a hoard of _gold _from a dragon," Bilbo says. "Mad, the lot of them."

"Well, yeah, but it's not gonna be thirteen dwarves. Is it?"

The gentle-hobbit frowns. "What?"

"S'gonna be thirteen dwarves _and a hobbit_. That's gotta count for something, eh, Mister Bilbo?" Olly says as perkily as she can manage. "Practically doubles the chances."

Bilbo can't help it, he snorts.

"Aw, c'mon, Mister Bilbo! You're worth at least ten dwarves, possibly even twenty of 'em depending on the dwarf," Olly continues, and he can _hear _her grin. "And if it's the git who kept insulting you, an argument could prob'ly be made for thirty dwarves. That's gotta be like... what? At least a three course dragon meal worth of dwarves."

"Stop, Olly,_ stop_," Bilbo laughs. His knack is _good_, but he doesn't want to chance the dwarves hearing his laughter, as much from his own nervousness as from Olly's words.

"Just tryna lift your spirits while we wait. The front door not clear neither?"

"No, the front door isn't clear either. Gandalf's smoking outside again," Bilbo sighs. "I don't want to test your knack against a wizard, Olly. I doubt the wizard doesn't get that something's happening here, but I'd rather that he think it's only me."

Olly groans. "But _why_ are he and them dwarves still here? I wanna _go home._"

"Then you should think twice before sneaking into dinner parties and hiding in closets," Bilbo replies. "And they're still here because they're staying the night." They hadn't returned to the Green Dragon for some reason – Bilbo is going to blindly blame Gandalf for this – and he's not exactly happy about it, but he didn't care enough to fight anymore.

He'd put his foot down when they'd started giving orders for breakfast though. It's bad enough that their leader Thorin is going to be in his best guestroom after spending the night either subtly insulting or completely ignoring Bilbo, and also that Thorin is apparently _royalty_, but Bilbo refuses to cook his sodding majesty breakfast unless threatened with execution.

"What happened to wanting to toss 'em out?" Olly grumbles, but her Unnoticeable-ness shifts with what Bilbo knows is curiosity. It's probably Olly's most frequent emotion.

The gentle-hobbit ponders her question, because he's also curious how his change in feelings happened. _Curious and more than a little bit scared_, Bilbo admits silently. He still doesn't have an explanation for that... that... mesmerizing song or the_... more-ness _that it had.

"I don't know," he answers after awhile. "Olly, when they were singing in the parlour, did that song feel... strange to you?"

Olly's Unnoticeable-ness stills. "Yeah," she answers cautiously. "It felt a little weird."

"How? How did it feel weird?"

"I dunno, Mister Bilbo. It was just weird, like there was something really _important _to it. Kinda like there was suddenly something I really, really _wanted _all of a sudden," Olly answers, in a subdued tone. "I wanted to _be _me... the _most_ of me, and to _get _it however I could. I just _understood, _and I _wanted _really bad and – It... it wasn't a normal song, was it, Mister Bilbo?"

"...I don't think so."

"What was it?" Olly asks quietly, and she sounds a little _frightened_. Oleandra Millwater hasn't shown any signs of being frightened since she'd been kidnapped by child snatchers, and even then she held herself together admirably That she sounds off balance and scared now is frightening in itself.

Bilbo tries to formulate an answer for the teen, but he really doesn't know. The unknown element of this situation makes him feel like he's facing an invisible, untouchable... _Unnoticeable _entity and he doesn't have his knack or a clue what it wants.

"I don't know, Olly," Bilbo answers truthfully. He doesn't want to scare her further, but he refuses to lie. "I really don't know."

"Oh."

There's silence between them for a few minutes. Bilbo can hear faint murmurs coming from Thorin and Balin, and the sounds of the dwarves noisily preparing for bed. He probably should be supervising that to make sure they aren't destroying his furniture, but suddenly that doesn't seem quite so important anymore.

He stares at the contract that Balin has left on his dining table, still unsigned. Thorin, Balin, and (strangely enough) the dwarf who had been eavesdropping on him and Gandalf, had given him odd looks when he'd asked for time to read it over. Nobody had mentioned that he'd already refused their quest earlier this morning, probably also Gandalf's influence.

_What the bloody hills am I going to do_?

_Well, first things first, I need to get Olly out of here_, Bilbo thinks as he watches Thorin and Balin _finally _finish their conversation and step away from his back door. He slowly and quietly gets to his feet, and tightens his Unnoticeable-ness as they pass by so that neither of their Notice horns so much as blow air.

"Olly, we're moving," he whispers, and he can hear her scrambling to her feet. "Use as much of your knack as you can."

"Unnoticeable-ness at the ready, sir!" she replies, bless her. He doesn't have a clue if she can sense Unnoticeable-ness or not – he knows she's got a fairly good sense for her own knack at least – but she's never doubted him that it exists.

Now that the path is clear, it's not hard for Olly to slip out of the closet and for the both of them to move lightly and quickly to the back door. They slip outside without any trouble, and Bilbo doesn't even spare a single thought to how it's a mark of a terrible host to just leave your guests like that.

"Ah! Fresh air! Freedom!" Olly exclaims, stretching her limbs for what has to be the first time in hours. Her Unnoticeable-ness falls off her nearly as soon as the door closes, she's been holding it up for awhile now, she must be exhausted. "I'm never doing anything like that again, Mister Bilbo, don't you worry!"

Bilbo smiles fondly. "Likely because your mother is going to chain you up after this," he reminds her, enjoying the way her brown freckled face scrunches up.

"Ugh."

"Mmhmm. This way, Gandalf's out front, remember? I'll walk you home."

Olly changes direction and squints at him as her eyes adjust to the darkness. "Are you sure you want to be doing that, Mister Bilbo? Leaving all them dwarves alone in your home?"

Bilbo sighs, leading her down the darkened Hill towards her home, which is thankfully not very far from his own – perhaps ten minutes walk if one doesn't bother to take the paths. Bag End will probably still be standing after twenty minutes.

"Not really, but I need to get away from them and clear my head or I might actually become 'Mad Baggins'." _Especially after that song_, he doesn't say.

Olly doesn't make the connection, and gives him a leering grin. "But wasn't there something said about a dragon giving you a better chance of survival than my mum? Dunno, Mister Bilbo, I'd probably be taking any chance to get out of here if I were you. Mum probably won't hunt you down past any mountains, y'see. No wings like a dragon to get over them."

Bilbo laughs, and it echoes a bit through the darkness. "I don't even know if I'm going to go, Olly, but that is a very good point towards doing so."

They walk in silence for a few minutes or so, only occasionally stumbling over nearly invisible obstacles. The gentle-hobbit can feel Olly building up the necessary emotion to say something, so he just keeps walking and waits.

"Mister Bilbo?"

"Yes?"

"I meant what I said earlier, 'bout you leavin' them dwarves behind and you going on their quest probably doubling their chances," Olly says, sounding she's confessing something.

"Okay...?" Bilbo replies, a little confused as to where she's going with this.

Olly sighs. "It's just... this quest is important to them dwarves, yeah? _Really _important. And they're trying to go up against a _dragon _with just _thirteen _of them, so it kinda seems like this whole thing is going to fail horribly from the get go no matter how many weird songs they sing. But then they manage to choose _you _for their burglar."

Bilbo startles and trips over a rock.

"_What_?" he demands, looking up at Olly from the ground. He's unable to properly see her expression in the darkness, but he's certain she's torn between being serious and rolling her eyes at him.

The teen hobbit helps pull him to his feet. "Well, Mister Bilbo," she says, walking off towards her home again. "It just seems to me that if they only got room for one more person on their impossible quest, then if there's anyone they could pick who might make their quest _not impossible_, it's _you_."

"Olly-" he begins.

"I _hear _what the adults say about you, Mister Bilbo," she states firmly, walking without turning her head back towards him. "And I _was there _when you did what you did against the child snatchers! I don't think there's _anybody _who could have done what_ you_ did there, and you did it all alone without _any _preparation or planning. You've got the best darn knack in the _entire _Shire! In _ever_! You've lived with elves and you're a great shot with your bow!"

"I-"

"If there's _anybody _who could do _anything _about a dragon, Mister Bilbo, it'd be _you!_" she insists firmly, striding along even faster than before. "And them dwarves don't deserve your help, but they sure could use it if they're going to go try and punch a dragon in the nose!"

"_Did anyone ever tell you what they used to say when Bella and your da got married?" _Bilbo's Uncle Isengrim laughs in his head, from a memory a _long _time ago. _"We all said that maybe it wasn't such a good idea for hobbits with knacks like theirs to marry."_

"Mister Bilbo?"

"_After all, the children would probably be so Unnoticeable that they would be able to punch a dragon in the nose and the dragon would look around for who was throwing rocks!"_

"Mister Bilbo!"

"_Got that one right, eh?" _

"Oi, Baggins!"

Bilbo looks wide-eyed down a concerned Olly. "Yes?"

"Where'd you go, there? You nearly walked into a tree!"

Bilbo looks up and yes, there's the tree.

"Oh."

Olly raises her eyebrows.

"Um..."

"Maybe you should get some sleep, Mister Baggins," Olly says, starting to walk towards her home again. "Then think all this through. Wouldn't do for the great burglar of dragons to get defeated by a tree. If I were them dwarves, I'd definitely pull any contract offers if that happened."

_Now there's an idea to avoid making an actual decision_.

They walk in silence for just awhile again.

"You could do some really great things, Mister Bilbo," Olly says quietly, as they finally approach the Millwater smial. "...with a knack like that. You're _really _lucky to be able to do such amazing things. You ought to realize that."

Bilbo doesn't reply. She's always been admiring of his ability, but he's never actually thought that Olly might be _jealous _of his knack. He doesn't know how to reply to the idea, especially since he's doesn't really _want _his own knack and doesn't really comprehend how anyone else could (not in the long run, at least). Fortunately, Olly doesn't seem to need a reply.

"Well, this is it, Mister Bilbo," she says, as they stand in front of her house. "Home sweet home."

The lights are still on, shining through the window, despite how horribly late it must be. Clearly Olive Millwater has noticed that her daughter was not where she ought to be. Olly doesn't look pleased at the idea of facing this.

The teen hobbit turns to the gentle-hobbit, and gives a funny little curtsy. "Thanks for dinner, Mister Bilbo," she says, with a cheeky grin.

"Anytime," he answers, with a fond smile. "And by anytime, I mean_ never again_. Stay out of my closets."

She shrugs. "Eh."

"But... thank you for the... advice, Oleandra."

"Anytime – _actually _anytime, Mister Bilbo."

They stand in front of the Millwater smial quietly for a moment longer. Finally, Olly moves forward and puts a hand on the door handle... then stops.

"Hey, Mister Bilbo?"

"Yes?"

"Want some _more_ advice?"

"Yes...?"

"I'm gonna be facing my mum now, and I'm going to try and cover for what really happened for as long as I can... y'know, big secret quest an' all. But you're probably gonna wanna run."

"Right."

* * *

When Bilbo makes it back to Bag End and lets himself in his back door, his smial is silent and dark. Well, dark save for a few candles here and there, and silent except for the loud snoring of a company of dwarves.

He creeps inside, running his hands over the walls and various pieces of furniture to keep himself from walking into anything. He could use his knack to keep from waking the dwarves, but he hasn't a clue where Gandalf is, so he's not going to risk it.

As he's walking along, feeling the surface of his dining table, his hand touches the paper of the contract still waiting there for him, unsigned.

He stops and looks down at it, he _really _looks at it.

Right here is a piece of paper that has the potential to change his life. If he signs this, he will be willingly signing up for what might be the most suicidal adventure he's ever had the misfortune of hearing about. He'll be signing on to journey with dwarves and to steal from dragons, and to face who knows how many other dangers.

If he signs this, he'll be leaving the Shire behind. They're be no more dinners spent keeping Lobelia from lifting his silverware or keeping the peace between the Baggins and the Brandybucks. No more mediating arguments over turnips or cows, no more gentle-hobbit luncheons or brunches, no more weeks repeating the same motions over and over again, no more odd days spent bored out of his mind.

He'll get to see _mountains _again, maybe go to Rivendell once more and see all his elvish friends on the way, and then he'll get to go _farther _than that. He'll get to see _the world_. He'll see _forests _and _rivers_ and the great Lonely Mountain, and then inside it, the once-kingdom of Erebor.

And the _dragon _that came with it too. Of course, he couldn't forget the bloody _dragon_. Facing Smaug, _stealing _from and _trying to kill _Smaug, would be the dumbest thing he could ever willingly volunteer or choose to do with his short life. It was a _dragon_, for the sake of all that was green.

...

_Damn it all_.

Bilbo grabs the pen he uses to label jars from a cup on the kitchen counter, and signs the stupid thing before his head can catch up with his hands.

* * *

_A/N: I am so utterly terrible at replying to comments/reviews on here, but please know that they are all very much appreciated. You guys are awesome.  
_


	15. I'm going on an adv a quest

_Disclaimer: While we're on the subject of hot people, let's all take a moment to think about and appreciate the awesome and gorgeous ladies of Tolkien's world, who are unfairly vastly outnumbered by the dudes. I drool over the dudes, but nothing sends me quite so head over heels as an awesome lady. Arwen, Eowyn, Tauriel, Galadriel... I'm so in love. _

_If I owned or could accurately claim any of Mister Tolkien's works, you can bet there'd be a whole bunch more badass women running about._

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: I'm going on an adv... a quest**

_In which Bilbo goes on a quest._  
_And as is the requirement for at least one journey that everyone takes in their lives, he has not slept, it rains at inappropriate moments in ridiculous amounts, and his fellow travellers seem to mostly ignore him, glare at him, or are disconcertingly friendly._  
_This appears to be a required occurrence in life. _

_Also, there are letters._

* * *

_Master Thain, _

_I am writing to inform you of my decision to take a job opportunity that will require some travelling. A company of dwarves, on the advice of Mister Gandalf, have employed me to fulfil a certain task on their quest. I will be leaving the Shire today, as there is a schedule to keep, and will likely not return for several months at the least. _

_To avoid any confusion, I am informing you of how I have left things to settle any disputes on the matter. You may need to be making use of this information in the future, to sort out any situations that may require mediation delivered neatly and with haste. _

_Firstly, I am leaving my home unoccupied and desire my home to remain unoccupied for the duration of my absence. No one is to take up residence of my home under any circumstance until either I return or five years have passed and I have not returned, and therefore can be assumed deceased. If I am assumed deceased, there are copies of my will with Idam Lobriver, Eglantine Shrubbens, Hamfast Gamgee, Paladin Took, and Fosco Baggins. The Sackville-Bagginses should not have a copy of my will, and any copy they produce should be compared immediately to two other copies from two different hobbits of the above named sources. _

_Secondly, I have left the care of my home in the hands of Hamfast and Bell Gamgee. I consider them wholly responsible, and will hold them to this responsibility upon my return; they have letters from me to prove my trust in them. Under no circumstances should anyone else be permitted inside my home until I return or five years have passed, there is no acceptable reason no matter their stated intentions – 'cleaning the crockery' or 'just polishing up some the silverware' are included in this._

_Thirdly, I have left the affairs of the Baggins family in the hands of Fosco and Ruby Baggins with the intention that they use this time to prepare their son, Drogo, to fulfil the role. I have named Drogo, through Fosco, my heir. Proof of this naming can be found in my will. _

_Should any complications arise with any of these matters, the people I have placed my trust and my will in can provide proof of my trust. I hope that if complications do arrive, you will step in as Thain to sever disputes cleanly before something regretful occurs**.** _

_Hoping this finds you in good health, _

_Bilbo Baggins_

* * *

Surprisingly, the dwarves had left early, tidying up behind themselves a bit and leaving a note on his dining table that told Bilbo to meet them at the Green Dragon at eleven o'clock. It seems that they'd realized that Bilbo's pantry was empty and that any hope of finding breakfast was not at Bag End.

Bilbo hasn't really slept all that much, considering he was riding the excitement from signing that contract and going on this mad quest and having so much to do before leaving. He's immeasurably proud of himself for managing to prepare Bag End to be left unoccupied (thank Yavanna he hadn't really unpacked everything from his trip to the Grey Havens), write letters to all the necessary hobbits, and gather his travelling things so quickly.

So, when eleven o'clock hits, Bilbo is waiting in front of the Green Dragon with all his travelling gear as the dwarves come around the front of the inn with a line of ponies. Their leader, Thorin, does not look pleased or impressed to see Bilbo at all, but Bilbo ignores him in favour of waving back at Kíli and walking up to Balin instead.

"I trust that you retook the contract off my dining table," Bilbo says cheerfully, riding partly on his excitement and mostly on how tired he is. "Is everything in order, then?"

Balin's eyes rise from his inspection of Bilbo's travelling things, his smile slightly tight. "Everything appears to be in order. Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield."

* * *

_Mister Goodchild, _

_I have decided to accompany the dwarves on their quest. It is complete madness, but it is my decision. Please do not attempt to organize any mobs to come after me or interrogate the wizard, I am not enchanted and that would not end well. _

_I leave the Green dragon in your competent hands as always. Remember to contact Asphodel Pritchard about the wines to settle the dwarves' bill. _

_If I do not return in time for your son's wedding, please congratulate him and Zinnia for me. _

_Hoping this finds you in good health, _

_Bilbo Baggins_

* * *

_Mistress Pritchard, _

_I am settling a bill at the Green Dragon for some acquaintances. Adelard Goodchild will be contacting you in the future for some of the wines from last year's stock. I have assured him you will handle the matter. Please keep in mind that Adelard knows his drinks before you start the exchange. Do not try and work things in my favour on my behalf, please. _

_Hoping this finds you in good health, _

_Bilbo Baggins_

* * *

Bilbo has spent days without having really slept the night before, but he's a little disbelieving over his inability to remember how utterly awful doing so was. He's dropped off of the high of excitement of this madness and his own tiredness, and hates the world and everything in it. For the unknown-th time, he curses the dwarves for being so urgent to leave... and dwarves in general... but specifically these ones.

At least he's not walking. Generally, he can walk quite far for quite awhile, but he's certain now that he'd walk into a tree or fall down a ditch if he had to walk now. Besides, the small pony they've put him on is quite docile and very gentle – next to Elladan's very memorable gigantic and thoroughly mean beast, Myrtle here is an absolute sweetheart.

Some of the dwarves had looked quite disappointed that Bilbo had appeared neither afraid of his pony nor uncomfortable riding one. (Bilbo's not a _fantastic _rider, but he can at least get on, stay on, and get off again, even when he's tired.) In fact, they'd looked surprised at how easily Bilbo had helped himself into the saddle... and at Bilbo's bow, more visible with Bilbo on horseback.

They were still stared at his bow actually, and his travelling gear in general. If Bilbo hadn't been so bloody tired, he might have actually thought or cared about why.

* * *

_Mister Lobriver,_

_I have decided to leave the Shire for a job opportunity and will likely not return for at least several months. The bank has a notice from me to continue pay for your services in my absence; I trust you to handle my affairs as usual, and to ask for and trust in the advice of Gerontius and Adamanta Took should anything more complicated arise. _

_During my absence, no one is to take up residence of my home; all care and maintenance of my home and belongings are the responsibility of Hamfast and Bell Gamgee. Please see to it, to the best of your abilities, that these edicts are obeyed in my absence. _

_If I do not return after five years of absence and am therefore assumed dead, please immediatelytake control of affairs and see to it that my holdings and belongings are distributed as I have deemed in my will. Should all copies you possess of my will mysteriouslygo missing, identical copies can be found with Eglantine Shrubbens, Hamfast Gamgee, Paladin Took, and Fosco Baggins. Under no circumstances is anyone to accept a will from the Sackville-Bagginses or any Baggins other than Fosco._

_Hoping this finds you in good health, _

_Bilbo Baggins _

* * *

_Mistress Shrubbens, _

_I have decided to leave the Shire for a job opportunity and will likely not return for at least several months. Please pay the post office to hold my mail and otherwise continue business as usual in my absence. In the face of complications, please ask for and heed the advice of Gerontius and Adamanta Took._

_Hoping this finds you in good health, _

_Bilbo Baggins _

* * *

_To the employees of the Hobbiton Post Office, _

_I am leaving the Shire for a job opportunity and will be absent for several months at the least. Please hold my mail during my absence, you will be paid for the trouble. If my absence extends past five years, as will be indicted by when my will is activated, please forward my mail to Bag End for the new owner, Drogo Baggins, to deal with. _

_Hoping this finds you in good health, _

_Bilbo Baggins _

* * *

"Come on, Glóin, pay up. Go on!"

"Pass it up, pass it up!"

"Hey, hey, c'mon now! Easy over!"

Bilbo frowns confusedly at the sacks of money flying between the dwarves – he's too tired for this shite. He turns to Gandalf, riding next to him out of no choice of his own. "What's that about?"

"Oh, they took wagers on whether or you'd turn up," the wizard answers with amusement. "Most of them bet that you wouldn't."

Bilbo frowns further, but can't find it in himself to be offended. Tooks bet over _everything_ , and his cousins have bet over worse things in his time. His cousins have bet over _him_ before, so this is really nothing new.

"Oi! Where's the rest?"

"That's all of it! You get what you bet!"

"What did you think?" Bilbo asks the wizard, half out of curiosity and half just continuing the conversation so he doesn't fall unconscious off his pony. The gentle rocking is horribly soothing.

The wizard snatches a sack of money out of the air with surprisingly deftness. "My dear fellow," Gandalf states grandly, with a mischievous grin and bright eyes, "I never doubted you for a second."

Bilbo's eyes narrow, before the hobbit turns away to look forward again. The wizard's smugness today is getting really _irritating. _Actually, the wizard is far too smug in general, come to think of it; it'll probably given Bilbo a twitch if it continues.

"I do apologize for any unpleasantness and misunderstandings, young Baggins," the wizard remarks gently, out of _bloody nowhere_. Bilbo's head snaps back to the wizard so fast, it's surprising that his neck doesn't _crack._ "And I hope that you and I will be able to correct any confusions between us. I find it discouraging that I do know as much of the son of Belladonna Took as much as I thought I did."

The wizard looks genuinely contrite, but also sharply intense. Bilbo meets the wizard's piercing gaze, and recognizes a _look_ there. It says, _I am old but not senile. There are strange forces at work around you and I know that you are keeping things from me, young hobbit. _

The gentle-hobbit looks away immediately, and tries to keep his mind from a series of internal screaming. Looking away from the wizard, Bilbo notes the disguised interest of the dwarves closest to them, especially the one that he is sure was eavesdropping in the bushes yesterday.

He is _really _too tired for this shite.

"I believe..." Bilbo begins carefully, "...that those subjects are rather personal to me, not very good travelling discussion, really. But... I should dearly like to have you over for tea and biscuits when this quest business is over – to catch up and correct those confusions."

The gentle-hobbit shoots the wizard a _look _ in return. The look says, _I am not discussing this here or now in front of a company of dwarves, and if you think I will, you are mad. _

"Tea-" Gandalf agrees with apparent good-nature, nodding. "-sounds absolutely wonderful. It has been far too long since I have come west to enjoy a cup of tea and a pipe of Longbottom leaf in the company of friends." The stare the wizards sends his way says, _This is not over. _

Bilbo smiles widely. "Lovely."

Then the conversation is over, and the wizard and hobbit look away to enjoy the scenery. Well, Bilbo is mostly enjoying the frustrated look on the face of the eavesdropper dwarf – which is slightly petty, but he doesn't care.

Oh, now that he's on a quest with them, he supposes he should actually bother to remember all of those ridiculous rhyming names. Damn.

* * *

_Dear Grandmother and Grandfather, _

_I am leaving the Shire again, sorry. I don't think it would be wise to explain where I am going or why, just know that I have accepted an employment opportunity with a company of dwarves to fulfil a task on their quest that will take me outside the Shire. The job is somewhat secrecy sensitive, so I will say no more. _

_I have been very happy during my time in the Shire, but as you may have guessed, I have also felt somewhat stifled. My knack is a rather large part of who I am, whether or not I would like to admit so, and I am taking the chance to use it for something good. What is the point of a knack as great as mine if I do nothing but deny it most of the time? With a knack like mine, I could do some very great things, as I have recently been reminded. With ability comes responsibility, and here has come a opportunity for me to fulfil mine. _

_I am tired of being the head of the Baggins family, the Hobbiton mediator, the Hero of Hobbiton, and Mad Baggins – nothing but my family name and my knack. The Shire will always be my home, but I have too much history here – too many memories. I am not your average hobbit, and it is time that I stopped hiding here in the past and stepped out into the world again. _

_I love you both very much and am incomparably grateful that you have been so accepting even if you do not entirely understand. I have left you a letter as Thain to settle any affairs that might arise with another of my absences. You are the best grandparents a hobbit could ever ask for. _

_Hoping this finds you in good health, _

_Bilbo Baggins_

* * *

The ride through the hobbit-lands is long and peaceful. Now that the wizard isn't trying to manipulate and bully Bilbo into this mad quest, he's an intelligent and pleasant companion with no small amount of wit. Bilbo exchanges a few more snatches of conversation with Gandalf, but is mostly too tired to keep them up for long.

Meanwhile, the dwarves have no real interest in speaking with him, instead preferring to sing merry and raunchy songs and tell equally merry and raunchy stories. Bilbo only partly listens but decides that he's heard funnier and worse before – he leaves them to their excitement and merriment for the beginning of their quest, occasionally picking up a name or two here and there.

That night, he eats the meal offered to him, thanks the rotund ginger-bearded cook – Bombur, who fell on him, he remembers. Then Bilbo wraps himself in his elvish travelling roll and blankets, and, being absolutely exhausted, falls asleep instantly.

* * *

_Dear Hamfast and Bell, _

_Firstly, thank you to Bell for helping me out after I had backed myself into a corner, even though you must have had so much else to do. The dinner was a hit, and I know I have you to thank for the success. _

_Secondly, I'm going with the dwarves. I can't explain why exactly I am doing this, but I fully feel that it is the right thing to do. Thank you tremendously for all that you have done for me but I am afraid I must ask even more of you. _

_I have left the responsibility of care and maintenance of Bag End to you both, and have stated that I will hold you both fully responsible for whatever state my home is in when I return. This is to keep meddling hobbits who claim that they are trying to keep my home for me while I am away, with only 'my best interests' on their mind, from using that excuse to poke their noses into Bag End. In my absence, I have specified that I desire my home to be left unoccupied. Please keep my relatives and all others from entering my home, especially the Sackville-Bagginses. I have a feeling that if they are let into my home, it shall be very hard to get them out again. I will be leaving Bag End in its Unnoticeable state to dissuade trespassers, so it would be difficult for you to do any dusting anyway. So please maintain the gardens but just leave the inside of my home be. _

_Honestly though, you can let the garden go to absolute waste for all I care (although I know you would never do such a thing, Hamfast), just keep Lobelia and Otho out of my home. Outside of keeping nosy relatives out of my home, business should continue more or less as usual. If there are any complications, please consult Gerontius and Adamanta Took. _

_Thirdly, if I do not return after five years of absence, I have left my home and my holdings to my cousin Drogo – and Primula by extension. (Bell, you know why.) There is a copy of my most recent will enclosed with this letter, just for the sake of preparedness. It is not the only copy, do not worry, but I hope that you will keep it safe. I hope that I will return, but if I don't and the Sackville-Bagginses behave as expected, you may be asked to provide it for reference. _

_Fourthly, you and your children are wonderful hobbits and I could not ask for better friends. I wish your potatoes luck to win again at the fair this year, and I hope that happiness finds you wherever you may go. Thank you. _

_Hoping this finds you in good health, _

_Bilbo Baggins _

* * *

After getting a good night's rest a day late, Bilbo is finally alert enough to really pay attention to the looks the dwarves are sending him – Gandalf is riding near the front today, and is not there to distract the gentle-hobbit at all. Well, truthfully, most of the dwarves seem to have taken it into their minds to ignore him unless directly forced to acknowledge him, but they'll occasionally give him the odd glance or two. Most of those glances, Bilbo notices, are directly at his bow and his travelling gear. And occasionally, there is muttering after the staring.

Embarrassingly, he's groggy enough that morning to be unable to accurately guess _why_. It isn't until after their midday meal, which is mostly just passing around food that will go bad if not eaten soon while they ride, that Bilbo is educated on why his things are so fascinating.

A cheerful voice breaks through Bilbo's thinking. "So! You're an archer then?" Bilbo turns on Myrtle to see Kíli coming up beside him, smiling brighter than the sun (Bilbo cannot remember _ever _being that cheerful) and eyes roving imploringly over the bow on the gentle-hobbit's back.

"Yes, I am," Bilbo replies, pleased that the young dwarf has initiated conversation. It's been a dull few days surrounded by strangers who aren't talking to him, which is making him wonder why he's bothering with this at all. He nods towards the bow on Kíli's back. "I see that you're one as well. I didn't think the bow was a common dwarfish weapon."

"It's not," says Fíli, coming up on Bilbo's other side, as though attached to Kíli by a rope. The golden-haired dwarf shrugs, then grins teasingly. "But Kíli was stubborn enough not to let that stop him, nor any of the many, many, _many _accidents."

Kíli scowls at his brother so fiercely that the gentle-hobbit has to laugh, which just makes Kíli scowl even deeper.

"I don't think there's a soul in the world who started learning a skill without gaining a number of embarrassing stories to tell," Bilbo states. Then he gives Fíli his friendliest smile. "I suppose you picked up those all knives of yours and mastered each of them immediately, then?"

Fíli grins and sticks his nose in the air. "Absolutely," he says loftily, then ducks out of the way as Kíli tosses something at him.

"You cut off half your hair! Twice!"

"Ah, but Kee, that was my intention all along!"

"That's shite!" Kíli laughs, tossing something else at Fíli. Bilbo hopes whatever the young dwarf is tossing isn't anything important, and more importantly, that Kíli doesn't hit him.

Now that they're not capable of causing horrible damage to his home or tossing his dishes about, Bilbo finds them much more charming. They're quite Took-ish. Especially in the way they're squabbling and have, for some reason, placed Bilbo in crossfire.

"Was there something you wanted to speak to me about?" Bilbo asks curiously. "Or is this some sort of elaborate plot to knock me off my knock and make it look like an accident? Because with one of you on either side of me, I'm beginning to suspect ulterior motives."

"Ulterior motives?" Fíli gasps theatrically. "Us? Never!"

Bilbo gives Fíli the look he gives the Took fauntlings when he's caught them unknacked and red-handed. The bland expression is his attempt to mimic his grandmother Adamanta and Lord Elrond's ability to make any youngling squirm.

The dwarf behind the three of them laughs loudly. "Doesn't take a _brick _long to recognize you two as troublemakers! Y'can stop pretendin' to be offended that our burglar's can smell trouble on you even over your regular stink!"

Kíli tosses something at the dwarf – oh, it's nuts he's throwing. Where did he get nuts? "Shut up, Bofur! Who're you to talk about _stink_?"

Bofur, who is the dwarf with the strange hat who believes it's acceptable to use books as coasters, catches the nut and tosses it back at Kíli. Kíli barely manages to dodge the tiny missile, and the brunet's eyes narrow slightly in such a way that has Bilbo nudging his pony slightly closely to Fíli just in case.

"So," Bilbo says to Fíli, turning his back completely on what he knows is going to be a disaster. "Is there something strange about my bow? Or my travelling gear? I've noticed that the Company seems to be staring at them a bit."

The golden-haired dwarf, who was grinning unashamedly at whatever was happening behind the gentle-hobbit, looks taken aback for a moment. "Oh, um – it's not much," Fíli responds, not nervously, just unsure of what to say. "It's just that it's a bit odd, y'know, for a halfling to have elvish things. Especially a halfling-sized elvish bow. Gandalf said the other day that your mum knew elves. Are those things hers?"

"No. They're mine, actually," Bilbo explains, ignoring the use of the word 'halfling'. "The bow was a gift from some friends of mine. I used to use my mother's, but they gave me one of my own when I came of age. And yes, the friends were elves."

"You know _elves_?" Kíli exclaims.

Bilbo turns to see a red mark in the middle of Kíli's forehead and winces as a nut hits the brunet on the cheek. "Ah – yes. They were friends of my mother who became friends of mine. I actually spent some years in Imaldris – Rivendell – when I was younger. The elves there saw to it that I had proper travelling gear when I left, they were _exceeding _horrified that I didn't when I arrived."

"What's it like?" Kíli demands, leaning forward in his saddle. While Fíli mutters something along the lines of, "Gandalf never mentioned this."

The gentle-hobbit pauses for a second. "It's a very beautiful place, but... it's also very stagnant. There's the feeling that it's been there for a very _long _ time, and has been the way it is for a very _long _time. The amount of history there is quite intimidating, and their library is incredibly extensive."

Kíli learns forward even further, so much so that Bilbo is a little worried the young archer is going to fall off. "And the elves?" Kíli asks eagerly. "What about them?"

"Tall," Bilbo answers laughingly. "That's the first thing that comes to mind about elves in general to me, since they're all very different individuals. But physically... each one of them is terribly _tall – _even more so than men – the elf women too."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Standing in a circle of elves is like being surrounded by walking trees. When I was being taught archery, I remember that to correct my stance, Elrohir had to bend over even while crouched down or on his knees."

Kíli grins wider than ever. "That's-"

"FÍLI! KÍLI!"

"-interesting," the brunet finishes lamely.

"YES, UNCLE?" Fíli yells, on Bilbo's other side. "WHAT IS IT?"

"MYSELF WANTING TO SPEAK WITH YOU WITHOUT YELLING!" Thorin calls, from his place near the front with Dwalin and Balin. "LEAVE THE BURGLAR BE AND COME HERE!"

Sighing, Fíli nudges his pony forward and glares at Kíli to follow. Kíli also sighs, but follows his brother with a sorry shrug towards Bilbo. The brothers trot ahead on their mounts, leaving the gentle-hobbit behind.

"So," says a new voice, one that Bilbo is not familiar with. "Rivendell, huh?"

It's the dwarf that was spying on Gandalf and Bilbo's conversation during the dinner party: Nori, the one with the ridiculous pointed hair. Nori's expression is openly friendly and innocently curious, and Bilbo recognizes another sharp-eyed nosey Noticer when he sees one. That look in the dwarf's eyes is the same one Gandalf and the white-bearded dwarf, Balin, keep giving him: suspicious and knowing.

Bilbo comforts himself in the fact that he doesn't have to tell this dwarf anything, and that this Company needs him much more than he needs them. Besides...

"So," Bilbo replies bluntly. "Eavesdropping, huh?"

The dwarf doesn't even look ashamed. "Yep. Gotta learn about a person somehow."

"Asking them usually works," Bilbo comments.

"Usually," Nori agrees.

"But I don't suppose that simply asking questions is actually being considered as an option?"

Nori grins, and it's nothing like Fíli and Kíli's – this smile is meant to show _teeth_. "Well, that depends. Are the questions going to get answered?"

"Of course," Bilbo replies honestly. And suddenly he's reminded of being back in Rivendell again and having to last through Glorfindel's nosy lightning-fast barrage of intrusive questions, or taking tea with Hamfast's grandmother. Oh dear, this isn't good - verbal sparring is _dangerously_ fun.

The pointy-haired dwarf pauses, only visibly flummoxed by the faint crease in his brow.

"Of course-" Bilbo adds blandly, "-the answers could be entirely wrong. Unreliable sources and all that, they're such a problem these days."

Nori grins again. "Of course," he agrees, then... "So, questions: what's your favourite colour?"

Bilbo finally turns to stare fully, completely nonplussed, at Nori, who just keeps grinning. The hobbits in the world who think _Bilbo _is mad clearly need to get out in the world more, so they can meet truly mad people like Nori, here, or Glorfindel for better reference.

"Blue," Bilbo answers curtly.

"Interesting," Nori says.

Then, without further ado, the eavesdropper dwarf pulls back to wherever he'd been skulking before, apparently to ride next to the young dwarf that had witnessed Bilbo yelling at Gandalf during the dinner party.

_Oh... That can't be good._

* * *

_Dear Fosco, _

_I have decided to leave the Shire for a job opportunity and will likely not return for at least several months. I am sorry for dropping this on you unexpectedly, but this employment is operating on a schedule and I must depart immediately. _

_I have left you in charge of the affairs of the Baggins family again. Firstly, the other other option are the Sackville-Bagginses. Secondly, you and Ruby are good at it. Thirdly, I have named Drogo my heir and have stated that I left you in charge with the intention that you prepare him for the likely eventuality that he will be head of the Baggins family one day. He needs to learn or the Sackville-Bagginses will tear him to pieces. _

_I have also left in trust with you a copy of my will, which should be included in the same envelope as this letter. I hope that I will return,but if I do not, you may be asked to provide it for reference against another copy. _

_Hoping this finds you in good health, _

_Bilbo Baggins _

* * *

_Dear Aunt Mirabella, _

_I am leaving the Shire for a job opportunity and will likely be gone for at least several months. I am sorry for having to skip out on your luncheon and apologize for how I will be absent to the consecutive affairs between the Bagginses and the Brandybucks. _

_Have Prim and Drogo get engaged already – Go over the heads of the rest of the Brandybucks and Bagginses if you need to, talk directly to Fosco and Ruby, I don't care how you do it – before they take it into their heads to elope or something. Judging by what I saw in my kitchen yesterday, they are quite attached to one another. _

_Hoping this finds you in good health, _

_Bilbo Baggins_

* * *

"Shh, hello, girl," Bilbo soothes, offering the darling pony an apple. "Here you go, Myrtle. That's a good girl. Are you the best pony in the world? Yes, you are. Keeping up with all the bigger ponies? It's not easy being short, is it?" Myrtle snuffles at his hand, Bilbo chuckles softly and strokes her mane. "No, I don't have any more. Did you know Glóin snores in and out tiny insects in his sleep? It's fascinatingly horrifying to watch."

Bilbo tried sleeping, but hasn't been able to manage it. For one, he can't quite get the image of insects being inhaled and exhaled out of his head. For two, Gandalf, Kíli, and Fíli are all still awake, and every once and awhile, Bilbo can feel as intense stare at his back. For three, Bilbo just has an intensely bad feeling about tonight.

None of this is helping him sleep.

Fíli and Kíli haven't really spoken to him since the second day of the quest – Bilbo doesn't know why, he supposes either it has something to do with Thorin, their _uncle_, telling them to leave him be or they just lost interest in speaking to him. None of the dwarves are speaking to him really, except occasionally Nori, who comes up to ask extremely normal questions about the weather and other bland conversational topics. Bilbo hasn't a clue what the pointy-haired dwarf is up to.

It's been a fairly boring and lonely quest so far, really... so why can't he shake this awful feeling?

A scream – high and terrible and inhuman – cuts through the night air. Bilbo freezes his petting of Myrtle, who shuffles in sudden agitation at his tenseness. "Shh, it's alright," Bilbo assures her, resuming the petting. "It's alright, girl, everything's fine."

Another scream – equally awful – follows the first.

Bilbo gives Myrtle one last pet, and then turns to walk back towards the camp. Fíli and Kíli have not gotten to their feet, but they look much more alert. Gandalf, however, is still puffing at his pipe and looks largely unconcerned, so Bilbo relaxes slightly.

"Orcs," Kíli announces, completely unnecessarily.

Bilbo looks at the archer questioningly.

"Throat-cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there," Fíli adds ominously. "The lowlands are crawling with them."

Kíli nods in agreement, looking very grim. "They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet; no screams, just lots of blood." Then the two young dwarves look at the hobbit standing in the middle of camp expectantly, with far too serious faces, and it's not hard to figure out they're looking for a reaction from him. His youngest Took cousins could do better than _that_.

Bilbo raises his eyebrows at them, then gives them an overly dramatic look of fright, even faker than their solemn expressions and blatantly obviously so. Then the gentle-hobbit crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue, just to see what they'll do. It's Kíli who breaks first, unable to control his face, and the dwarf brothers crack up in quiet laughter – even Gandalf looks amused.

"You think that's funny?" Thorin demands harshly, appearing suddenly and glaring at his nephews, a whirl of fur coat and dark hair. "You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?" Bilbo winces at the volume; could he _be _any less considerate of the sleeping Company around them?

"We didn't mean anything by it," Kíli protests.

"No, you didn't," Thorin agrees, sounding equally furious and disappointed. He glowers down his nose at them, cutting quite the imperious and intimidating profile. "You know _nothing _of the world."

Then the dwarf king stomps away to the edge of the cliff where they're camped, another whirl of fur and hair, to... look off into the distance apparently.

Bilbo turn back to Fíli and Kíli, who look completely crestfallen. _Really_ crestfallen - in the way children do when they've disappointed someone whose opinion means a lot to them but they're hiding it. Their joke was in extremely poor taste, but clearly Thorin's opinion means a lot to them and therefore his careless words cut deep. The gentle-hobbit catches Fíli's eye and shrugs before rolling his eyes, trying to communicate his opinion of what's just been said; Fíli grimaces back weakly.

"Don't mind him, laddie," Balin says gently, apparently _very much_ awake and approaching the brothers and Bilbo like a _bloody ghost, _he's so quiet. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs."

The gentle-hobbit turns away to go back to try and sleep, leaving Fíli and Kíli to hear whatever Balin has to say. It wasn't as though it was him Thorin just insulted, which is actually surprising, and honestly, Bilbo's just tired.

But he can still hear Balin's tale, lying in his bedroll. Bilbo falls asleep listening to Balin's dramatic recounting of the terrible battle at Dimrill Dale, which the dwarves call the Battle of Azanulbizar. There's a fearsome white orc, a king's beheading, a shield made of an oaken branch, and a victory by a young dwarfish prince at a horrible price. It's all very dramatic and heroic – Bilbo doesn't even _like _ Thorin and he's still impressed – Balin is clearly _quite_ the storyteller.

Bilbo wonders if Balin's practised this before, because it sounds like it.

* * *

_Dear Drogo, _

_I am leaving the Shire with the dwarves and will likely be gone for at least several months. I have left your father in charge of Baggins family affairs, with the hope that he will teach you how to fill that position. Because if I die, my position as family head, my home, and most of my holdings are going to you and Primula. Yes, you are my heir. _

_I have no plans to die or not return, but listen to your father, ignore the Sackville-Bagginses, and prepare yourself for the joys of adulthood, cousin. And for Yavanna's sake, _ _ stop mashing your face against Prim's every given opportunity and start using your tongue to speak to people. _

_ You and Prim are on your own with this marriage business, cousin. Now is the time for you to stand up for yourself and your life choices – against your family, NOT the Brandybucks . If you value your general well-being at ALL , you will let Primula stand up against her family for you both. _

_Thank you for your assistance making dinner for the dwarves, and sorry for throwing potatoes at you. _

_Hoping this finds you in good health, _

_Bilbo Baggins _

* * *

_Dear Primula, _

_I am leaving the Shire with the dwarves and will likely be gone for at least several months. You and Drogo are on your own with this marriage business, Prim. It is time that you stand up for yourself against your brothers and uncles: make demands and do not budge an inch. If they keep being stubborn, Fortinbras will help you. Remind him that he owes me several favours, and Mistress Harfoot still sharpens her pitchfork in the hope that she will find the offender one day. _

_I have left the affairs of the Baggins family in Fosco Baggins's capable care, with the hope that he use my absence to prepare Drogo for the likely eventuality of having the role. Drogo will probably be needing your help and support very soon – you are probably his best defence against the Sackville-Bagginses. _

_Thank you for your assistance making dinner for the dwarves, and sorry but not sorry for throwing potatoes at your sweetheart. _

_Hoping this finds you in good health, _

_Bilbo Baggins _

* * *

It was raining, and it had been raining for several days - _miserable_, did not even _begin _to describe it. The world was a monotone of muddy, gloomy, and _wet_; the dwarves were grumpy, unhappy, and unwilling to talk. _Really, ridiculous miserable_, was only getting _slightly _closer.

Bilbo actually quite liked it – not the grumpy and miserable dwarves part, because grumpy and miserable dwarves made for terrible company and travelling companions – because it reminded him, sentimentally, of his father's Unnoticeable-ness. It's been while since Bilbo was outside, immersed in heavy rain – it brings up old and comfortable memories. Of course,Bungo's knack felt like heavy and warm summer rain, and this rain is cold, but Bilbo's elvish travelling cloak makes up for that.

"Here, Master Gandalf – can't you do something about this deluge?" One of the dwarves calls out, Bilbo thinks it might be one of the ones who have decided to not take any notice of him, but he doesn't know their voices quite well enough to tell them apart even after all this time.

Gandalf, who has for some reason decided to start riding next to Bilbo again, harrumphs. "It is raining, Master Dwarf-" Bilbo suddenly wonders if _Gandalf _can't tell the dwarves apart either. "-and it will continue to rain until the rain is done. If you want to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself _another _wizard."

Bilbo wonders if the dwarves can hear the underlying words of, '_good luck with __**that'**_, or if they're too busy grumbling.

"Who _are _the other wizards?" Bilbo asks conversationally. The gentle-hobbit knows that there _are _other wizards, there's five in total, after all. He's heard some of the others being occasionally discussed in Rivendell or read references to them in history books, but Bilbo realizes that he doesn't know much about them.

It turns out that Gandalf apparently doesn't know much about them either, as the grey wizard has forgotten the names of two out of the other four. He names Saruman the White and Radagast the Brown, and speaks some of Radagast.

"_Could _any of _them _do anything about this rain?" Nori asks, riding just behind them. It seems the dwarf isn't going to give up the opportunity to 'accidentally overhear' any interaction between the hobbit and the wizard.

Bilbo glares a little at Nori, who just grins back under his soaking wet hood.

Gandalf pays neither of them mind as he pauses to think about it. "You know," the old wizard says thoughtfully, "I cannot quite remember – but I do believe that it's more of a question of _would _ any of our order do anything about this rain rather than _could_."

"_Would_ they?" Bilbo asks.

"No," the grey wizard replies simply.

Nori shrugs. "Pity," he says. Then, "Master Baggins, how do you take your tea?"

"In a gold cup encrusted with rubies," Bilbo answers with a plain face and flat tone. His answers to Nori's questions have been getting more and more ridiculous, and he's changed them when the questions repeat, but Nori just seems to take it in stride.

"Fancy," Nori says brightly.

Gandalf, because the old wizard has the maturity of a _faunt_, looks like he's trying not to burst out laughing. "Indeed," the wizard agrees.

* * *

_Dear Paladin, _

_I am leaving the Shire with a bunch of dwarves on some mad quest. Clearly, some part of me is afraid that I have not recently done enough to maintain the title of 'Mad Baggins' and is acting accordingly. I will likely be gone for at least several months if I do not get crushed by a rock or something equally ridiculous. _

_Please give my best to the rest of the family, and look after Gerontius and Adamanta in my absence. Since you will be the future Thain – you will and you will be good at it, we both know it, you are already doing some of the duties, stop pretending responsibility makes you ill – it might be a good idea if you ask them to see the letter I sent to the Old Took in his capacity as Thain. _

_I have also enclosed a copy of my will for you to keep safe. If I do not return in five years and the Sackville-Bagginses act in character, you may be asked to procure it for reference. _

_Wish me luck. _

_Hoping this finds you in good health, _

_Bilbo Baggins_

* * *

_Dear Fortinbras, _

_I am leaving the Shire for a job opportunity and will not return for several months at least. Yes, it is with a company of dwarves as you have likely heard, and no, I have not actually gone mad to my knowledge. _

_In my absence, Primula and Drogo will need someone to back them up in their uphill battle to their engagement. You know that you owe me several favours, and I know that Mistress Harfoot would still very much like to find the offender from the incident. It has been a long time, but I have it on good authority that she still sharpens her pitchfork regularly just in case. _

_It is in your best interests to help them, I think. _

_Hoping this finds you in good health, _

_Bilbo Baggins _

* * *

They're camping at an old, abandoned farmhouse in recent ruin. _Clearly_, there is _nothing _unsettling or anything about this. Gandalf seems on a similar track of common sense as Bilbo, wanting to press onwards, but Thorin, unsurprisingly, is hearing none of it.

Bilbo leaves the wizard and company leader to bicker, moving past Glóin and Óin quarreling about how to light a fire, so he can care for Myrtle instead. As Elladan and Elrohir had once put it while teaching Bilbo enough about riding to stay on at speeds past 'gentle', if Bilbo was going to put as much work into riding as a sack of potatoes, Bilbo could at least be a _grateful _sack of potatoes.

"Who's my darling girl?" Bilbo coos, rubbing Myrtle neck and scratching under her jaw. "Aren't you just the most lovely pony on all of Middle Earth? Yes – okay, no, that's my pocket – I have something for you. Just _wait –_ _wait_ – a second... alright, here. Please don't take off my fingers – I'm apparently a burglar, I'm going to need those.."

A soft chuckle comes from nearby, and Bilbo looks up to see Nori and the young dwarf that caught Bilbo yelling at Gandalf, Ori, watching him. Nori is doing that odd smirk grin that is supposed to make Bilbo feel as though he has something to hide – it doesn't work, Bilbo's part Took after all – and Ori looks amused. Ori looking amused is good, _very _good, since the young dwarf has mostly just looked scared or embarrassed around Bilbo so far. Which is mostly whenever Nori drags his younger brother along when coming to ask Bilbo commonplace and inane questions, like what the gentle-hobbit's favourite colour is (_repeatedly_) and what Bilbo thinks that particular cloud looks like.

"Jealous much?" Bilbo asks blandly, inwardly enjoying the way Nori's grin freezes in place and how Ori looks torn between blushing and laughing at his brother. Bilbo has to continue, because he can't _not._ "That's awful, because I'm afraid Myrtle, best pony on Middle Earth, is taken." Then Bilbo gives Myrtle one last pat and goes back to see how Gandalf and Thorin are faring, because he's afraid he'll burst into uncontrollable laughter if he stays a second longer.

"I have told you already," Thorin thunders as Bilbo approaches, "that I _will not _go near _that place._"

"Why not?" Gandalf enquired, learning on his staff so he loom slightly over the dwarf. Bilbo recognizes Gandalf trying to bully and manipulate someone into doing what the wizard thinks is best - _uh oh_. "The elves could help us. We could get food, rest, advice."

Only, this time, it seems that Bilbo agrees with what Gandalf thinks is best. _At least, _a snide part of Bilbo thinks, _it is preferable to being on the same side of an argument as Thorin. _

"I do not _need _their advice," Thorin growls.

Gandalf huffs. "We have a map that we _cannot _read. Lord Elrond could help us."

_This is true_, Bilbo agrees. They need the map to be read to get into the mountain, and not only is Rivendell _on the way_, but the elves of Imaldris would be more than willing to help a company of travellers. Although... it might be best if Thorin not announce from the rooftops what exactly they are attempting to accomplish. Actually, it might be best if Thorin did not speak at all.

"Help?" Thorin sneers. "A dragon attacks Erebor, and what _help _came from the Elves? Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls, the Elves look on and did _nothing_. You ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed us. I _will not_."

"And why not?" Bilbo pipes up, and tries desperately not to flinch when both Gandalf and Thorin's intense stares (intense glare, in Thorin's case) turn on him. "Lord Elrond may be an elf, but one person does not and can not speak for their entire race. You cannot hold him accountable for betrayal when he has never '_betrayed'_ you."

Thorin glares coldly at the gentle-hobbit, around them, the Company is silent. "I will not give him the opportunity," Thorin answers. "I will not be betrayed as my grandfather and father were."

"Lord Elrond _would not _do such a thing!" Bilbo insists, just as Gandalf says, "You are neither of them." Gandalf turns to look at the hobbit, and Bilbo gestures for the wizard to keep speaking. "I did not give you that map and key for you to hold on to the past," Gandalf tells Thorin seriously.

"I did not know that they were_ yours_ to keep," Thorin retorts.

Gandalf huffs again, before turning and angrily storming off.

"Gandalf?" Bilbo calls, more than a little worried at this sudden change in dynamics. "Where are you going?"

"To seek the company of the only one around here who's got any sense, Master Baggins!"

_Well, there's no need to be rude._

The gentle-hobbit turns back to Thorin. "You're being ridiculous," Bilbo says bluntly, inwardly enjoying the way Thorin's head snaps back a little in surprise. "Gandalf _and_ myself can vouch for Lord Elrond. Rivendell is not only on the way, but would be _willing _to give aid. Even if you don't like elves, no matter the reason, how do you expect to actually _use _that map if you haven't a clue what it says?"

Thorin looks at Bilbo in such a way, that Bilbo could not have felt more like an insect if he were one. "That-" the dark-haired dwarf states frigidly, "-is none of your concern, Master Burglar." Then Thorin turns away without waiting for Bilbo to reply. "Come on, Bombur, we're hungry," the dwarf calls to the ginger cook.

Bilbo turns to the nearest dwarf, who happens to be Balin, who also happens to be looking Bilbo with a mixture of surprise and respect.

"Gandalf will be coming back, won't he?" Bilbo asks.

_Because if he's just driven off our wizard because of his own prejudices_, Bilbo doesn't say, _I'd like to know how he thinks he's going to fight a dragon or rule a kingdom. And also how in the bloody hills he expects to read the map that is **necessary** for the quest.  
_

Because life is the way it is, Balin doesn't answer.

* * *

_Dear Olly, _

_I'm going with the dwarves. I hope you're happy, you little brat. _

_Hoping this finds you in good health, _

_Bilbo Baggins _


	16. Three Monstrous Trolls

_Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings or the Hobbit. This should be fairly obvious by now, I think.  
_

* * *

_A/N: This chapter seemed to go over well on AO3, so y'all will probably like it. Don't worry, the last chapter followed the movie so closely purely because I needed certain things to happen. We're going to move away from things like that, this story is going to remain very much its own. I hope you guys enjoy my take on the trolls. _

_I swear here again, although I'm pretty sure no one cares. _

_Just to let y'all know though, this story is likely to have no pairings or romance. Like 97% chance of purely platonic, friend, familiar relationships here. I like pairings, it's just that they probably won't make it into this story. I usually leave my stories open to see where they take me, but the chances of this story taking me towards romance are slim to none. _

_Also, thank you for your favourites, follows, and reviews. They are greatly appreciated. _

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: Three Monstrous Trolls  
**

_Here be monstrous trolls._  
_Three of them, when we begin._  
_And by the end, none._

* * *

Bilbo looks at Balin expectantly, while the rest of the dwarves move around them, but the old and shrewd dwarf _still _doesn't answer. Yavanna, it's like trying to get water from a _stone_ or a spoon from Lobelia's pocket, only... Bilbo doesn't think he'd win a physical bout of strength between him and Balin to retrieve some answers, or that he has the greater popularity be forgiven for trying.

"Well... that's just lovely," Bilbo proclaims quietly, fixing Balin with his best '_I am not going to stand for this shite_' look. (Which Balin just returns intimidatingly with greater strength.) "Well, I am going to go sit down and let _you_ to try convince our glorious leader that Rivendell is not optional. _Because_ I hardly see how I'm supposed to do _any burgling _unless I can actually _get in _to where I'm supposed to be burgling from. I signed a contract, I mean to _fulfill _said contract, so I'd like the _actual chance _to fulfill the contract."

"Hmm," Balin hums, which sounds _vaguely _like agreement.

"Unless..." Bilbo prompts, "...there is _some other way _to find out _what_ that map says?"

Balin still says nothing, but the line of his mouth flattens in an especially displeased way that Bilbo typically associates with his grandmother when dealing with Primrose Boffin.

_Damn, there really is no other way._

The gentle-hobbit sighs. "Please tell me you're _at least_ going to tell him off for driving off the wizard," Bilbo mutters. "Because that's just... that's just _not _on."

Balin coughs, which sounds suspiciously like quashed laughter. When the white-bearded dwarf looks back up to meet Bilbo's eyes, there's a twinkle there that looks like amusement. The gentle-hobbit waits for a bit, expecting Balin to comment on _something_, but apparently that's just not on either.

"Well... I'm glad we have these discussions," Bilbo says finally. Then the gentle-hobbit turns around to go _somewhere else_, because _'Argh, bloody stubborn dwarves'_.

_Gandalf certainly had _ _ **something ** _ _right. _

He goes about six steps, three of which are dodging Bofur carrying firewood, when he's set upon by Fíli and Kíli. The young dwarves suddenly grab his traveling cloak and _pull_, so Bilbo is yanked off to the side before he can get out a word.

"You called Uncle '_ridiculous_' – to _his face_!" Kíli whispers conspiratorially, another _massive _grin on his face, and said grinning face in Bilbo's own. The brunet is going to gets cracks in his cheeks from smiling so much, Bilbo _swears_.

Fíli pulls Kíli away from Bilbo's face and nods, also smiling widely. "Mum would _love _to meet you – you sounded _just _like her then!"

Bilbo blinks at them both. "Is-is that a good thing?" Bilbo wonders, a little off balance.

"She spent _two weeks _bemoaning the idea that there wouldn't be anyone on the quest to tell Uncle what an idiot he is – who he might, y'know, _actually _listen to," Fíli confides, barely audible. "She'll be _so glad _you were here when she hears about _this._"

"Oh," Bilbo says, more than a little stunned. He thinks he'd like to meet their mother too, maybe. "That's... um, nice."

"To _his face_!" Kíli repeats happily, seemingly unable to let that part go. "I can't believe you said that to _his face_! You didn't even _think _about it."

"FÍLI! KÍLI!"

Both brothers wince at their uncle's bellow – although to be fair, so does Bilbo. Maybe he should _really _start trying to remember he's not in Hobbiton anymore and can't go about telling people when they're being twits.

"GO LOOK OUT FOR THE PONIES ALREADY!"

Fíli closes his eyes and _almost _sighs. "WE'RE GOING! ...Come on, Kee." The blond dwarf grabs his brother's clothing and starts walking to where the ponies are, the brunet grudgingly follows, waving to Bilbo as he goes.

Bilbo waves back and turns to rejoin the rest of camp, just barely catching snatches of dialogue like, "_None of- ... -bloody suspi- ... -omeone's actually interes-_" But the dwarves' longer legs take them too far away for the gentle-hobbit to hear much more.

There's also... something else, just barely there that makes Bilbo pause. It's not a sound, it's nothing audible, but Bilbo, for the very _shortest of seconds, _can _hear _it.

Whatever it is, it goes _**THUMP – **_like a tree fall or a rumble of thunder.

_ **THUMP. ** _

And _whatever _it is, it's _big. _

Bilbo frowns, then turns. But there's nothing there, in the trees in which Fíli and Kíli have disappeared into, nothing visible or audible. And then it's gone, whatever it was, like it was never there – _if _it was ever actually there in the first place. After a couple minutes, it doesn't seem to be coming back.

_Maybe I am going mad_, Bilbo thinks, before turning away.

* * *

Bilbo is feeling pensive and wary, and more than a little bit angry – also hungry. It's really quite late, _very _late really, because Thorin pushed them further than normally for some reason. Most of his thoughts have to do with trying to comprehend Thorin's completely illogical mindset and the wizard just _up and leaving like that even though he put so much effort into bullying Bilbo into this mess led by a stubborn __**prat**__. _

The rest of him is ignoring how hungry he is, and also Nori.

"What're your favourite hobbies?" Nori asks, sitting across from Bilbo while they wait for the soup to be ready. Ori and Dori, the dwarf that nearly served Gandalf some of that terrible wine, are sitting adjacent as though spectators.

"Reading, writing... cloud collecting," Bilbo answers, trying to Notice out of place sounds among their camp chatter and clatter. But he _hears _nothing but the click of Ori's knitting needles, the rustling of Dori's cloth and needle, and the muffled conversations of the others in the background – Bofur and Bombur are bickering over the soup, Balin and Thorin speaking in quiet but harsh tones.

"How d'you collect clouds, then?"

Bilbo hums. "I've got some magic jars and a pair of wings that I keep in my closet. Couldn't do it now, since I left it all behind. Oh, woe is me."

Ori snorts, Dori's muttering becomes probably unflattering to Bilbo, Balin and Thorin are quarreling a little louder now but still very seriously (hopefully, Balin is giving Thorin a verbal slapping), and Glóin bellows something into his brother's ear trumpet. Bilbo frowns, and tries to listen _harder_.

_Hmm. _

Nori's questions continue. "What's your favourite fruit?"

"Strawberries," Bilbo replies absently, leaning back as he _almost _catches _it. _He keeps feeling_ that __**THUMP**_, just around the borders of his knack senses, and it _moves_. It's not Unnoticeable-ness, but it feels nonphysically_ present, heavy, _and _big. _And occasionally, there's _more than one_.

It's making Bilbo edgy – _really _edgy.

"Why don't you wear any shoes?"

If Bilbo were half the gentle-hobbit he was supposed to be, he'd probably get offended by that question's attack on his _'delicate sensibilities_'. But he's not – there are more important things both at the moment and in general – so he doesn't.

"Tough feet."

"Why green paint on your door?"

"My mother picked it."

"What's your favourite colour?"

"Green like my door."

"What was so important about that bottle of wine?" Nori asks casually, _too casually; _the clacking of Ori's knitting needles stops.

Bilbo _very _carefully _does not _freeze, and _does not _turn around to meet Nori's eyes. He's a Took, and not a fool. "What bottle of wine?"

_ **THUMP. ** _

_There, damn it, what the bloody hills _ _ **is ** _ _that? _

"The one you wouldn't let Dori drink," Nori expands, still _very _casually; Ori's knitting needles give a single, nervous click.

Bilbo leans a little further, turning his head as far as he can without being painful. It might be his imagination, but he's _certain _that whatever _that _is, it's getting closer. Should he say something? Fíli and Kíli are out there, after all. But how would he explain it?

_ **THUMP. ** _

"Saving it for another occasion," Bilbo replies hurriedly, as he stands. "Excuse me, I think I'm going to go check on Fíli and Kíli."

"_Someone_ should," Dori grumbles, focused on his needlework. "Mahal knows what those lads'll get up to left on their own."

The clacking of Ori's knitting needles resumes, a fast paced _click-click_. "Food's just about done," Ori volunteers quietly. "You could bring them their meals."

"Capital idea," Bilbo agrees distractedly – _what a_ _perfect excuse –_ purposefully _not _looking in Nori's direction as he hops off to join Bombur, Bofur, and Bifur around the soup. "Hello," he greets the three quickly. "I'm off to go check on Fíli and Kíli – is the food done enough to take them theirs while I'm at it?"

The Ur's blink at Bilbo for a moment, the soup simmering between them. Bilbo cannot tell what kind of soup it's supposed to be, but he gave up that hope about the second night in – traveling food is unfortunately _traditionally_ unidentifiable.

"Actually, yeah," Bofur replies cheerfully. "That'd be a favour. Wait a mo'." The dwarf spins to search for bowls, is handed two by Bifur, and ladles some soup into them to present them to Bilbo, smiling hugely. "Here you go, y'can take these to the lads."

"Cheers," Bilbo says, still somewhat distracted, taking the bowls as Bifur plops spoons into each bowl. "I'll be back in a bit."

_ **THUMP. ** _

_Or maybe not – if whatever that is is half as bad as it feels._

* * *

_Oh, yes, there's something out there – a number of somethings, and they're somethings big. _

Bilbo _still _cannot tell what they are, but the closer he gets to Fíli and Kíli, the surer he is that there _actually is _something there. For the first time since leaving the Shire, he lets his Unnoticeable-ness wrap around him, and his knack feels a tad sluggish as it winds its protective velvety folds around his limbs and core.

Bilbo finds Fíli and Kíli staring out towards the ponies, they're both oddly quiet and still, but nothing else (besides the unknown _ **THUMP** _'s) seems to be amiss. Bilbo lets his Unnoticeable-ness curl off him as he approaches them, so they aren't thrown off by his appearance. As soon as he gets close enough to see their expressions, it's clear enough that something's wrong.

"What's the matter?" Bilbo asks, carefully putting their soup bowls on a nearby fallen tree – a _ freshly _ fallen tree that looks like it was _ knocked over_. And oh look, there are some _ other _ knocked over trees, _ lovely, wasn't wrong about the 'big' part. _

"Weeell..." Kíli reports dully, not tearing his eyes off the ponies. "We're _ supposed _ to be looking out for the ponies."

"Only," Fíli continues, picking off at the end of Kíli's speech. "Only we've encountered a slight... problem."

_ They sound half like Elladan and Elrohir, _ Bilbo thinks, _ but also half guilty fauntlings dancing around a subject. Actually, no, just _ _ **entirely** _ _ like Elladan and Elrohir. _

"We _ had _ sixteen."

"Now there's fourteen."

After a moment of collective continued staring at the ponies, Kíli grimaces. "Daisy and Bungo are missing," the archer remarks grimly.

_I bloody __**knew**__ it_, Bilbo thinks triumphantly, and then... _Oh wait, no, shite. This is bad. _

"We have to alert the rest of the Company," Bilbo whispers. If there are _big _things about that are stealing ponies, they need to be out of here before they even _got _here.

Fíli and Kíli look panicked – adorable, startled _deer_, Bilbo _swears._

"Uhh, no," Fíli suggests. "Let's _ not _ worry him about this." Then the golden-haired dwarf clearly gets an _ idea _ . "As our... um... _ official _ burglar, we thought – as we _ have _ got a burglar with us – _ you _might like to look into it."

Bilbo gives Fíli a _ look _ . "Which is why you _ immediately _ came looking for me, right?" Bilbo drawls quietly. "And didn't just _ stand _around panicking until I showed up."

Kíli coughs, then goes straight-faced and looks into the trees as Bilbo turns the _ look _ on him. The archer's face lights up as he spots something. "Hey!" Kíli exclaims, _ far too loudly_. "There's a light! Over there!"

The dwarf brothers move towards the light without delay. There get more than several yards before Bilbo can grasp onto their clothes and _ pulls _ back. However, the hobbit didn't really taken into account how _ strong _young warrior dwarves are, and gets dragged along for a second before they notice and stop to look inquisitively at the gentle-hobbit.

"Are you... are you _ mad _ ?" Bilbo whispers. "'_There's a light _ '? And you're just going to head _ towards _ it? No – no, no, no, no, _ no_. What is going to happen here is that-" _ **THUMP.** _ "- _ shite_. Get _ down _."

The gentle-hobbit lets his Unnoticeable-ness swirl up around him on instinct, as he shoves the dwarf brothers behind the nearest tree. Given that something _ heavy _is stomping close by through the trees, Fíli and Kíli immediately obey.

_ **THUMP. ** _

"What _ is that _ ?" Bilbo murmurs, staring up at the massive being from their hiding place. It's the biggest creature that the gentle-hobbit has ever seen, and there's something _ new _ around it that is actual horrifyingly similar to _ Unnoticeable-ness _.

It's like parts of the thing _ blend _ into what's around it as it lurches by, sending _ thunderous _ quakes into the ground with each step and carrying a pony under each arm. _ No _ , it's like there's _ something_, something _ like _ Unnoticeable-ness, that's pulling the colours and patterns _ behind _ the creature to the _ front _ like camouflage. Part of Bilbo thought in that moment that something that big _ should not _ be able to seem so translucent: a shimmering part of the trees and rocks, only _ really _distinguishable by its lumbering movement and sounds.

_ It wasn't particularly fair _, the hobbit in him thought, staring as the massive thing moves by.

"Trolls," Kíli mutters, bringing Bilbo's attention back to the dwarves and that _ he's Unnoticeable right _next to them. Only, that doesn't appear to matter because... Fíli and Kíli are Unnoticeable too.

Well... _ parts _ of Fíli and Kíli are Unnoticeable. Bilbo's knack swirled up around him in his panic and appears to have unintentionally attempted to wrap around Fíli and Kíli, crouched _ so close _ to Bilbo as they are. It's wrapped around the dwarf brothers _ grudgingly... _ with _ loathing, _ as though it doesn't really want to be touching them. And the red velvety Unnoticeable-ness is also stretched out _ extremely _ thinly, only covering about half of Kíli's face and torso, and Fíli's left limbs and head.

_ This... this has never happened before. Knacks don't... knack's don't _ _ **do ** _ _ this. _

As soon as Bilbo tentatively shifts his knack, it comes _ snapping _back with such force that he stumbles backwards. Luckily, Kíli catches him and hauls him back to his feet in a single fluid motion, and suddenly they're all silently running after the troll while Bilbo tries to make sense of what just happened. He feels out of breath and his knack feels stretched and unhappy.

_ Everyone _ _ **knows** _ _ that you can't make anyone more than _ _ **yourself ** _ _ Unnoticeable, _ Bilbo's head tells him, whirling in anxious panic. _ A knack is for yourself only, to help only yourself, to hide you and only you – it's a coward's armour! _

"They're going to eat the horses," Fíli mutters, as he and his brother peer towards the fire.

_ ...But, then again, everyone _ _ **knows** _ _ that you _ _ **can't ** _ _ sense Unnoticeable-ness as well. And everyone _ _ **knows** _ _ you can't make a smial Unnoticeable, _ a small voice reasons quietly from the back of Bilbo's mind, away from the panic and disbelief. _ Who're you to be calling anything 'impossible', eh? _

Kíli expression grows worried. "We've got to do something," the brunet says quietly, reaching towards his bow. It's this movement that snaps Bilbo out of his ground-breaking discovery in favour of more pressing problems.

"No! What are you doing?" Bilbo hisses, touching Kíli's hand as it grasps his bow. "We need to alert the others first. The three of us isn't _ half a match _ for _ anything that big _ -" _ Especially when they have some _ _ **knack ** _ _ of their own, while Fíli and Kíli have _ _ **nothing** _ _ ! _ "-and we're _ not _ the ones who should be deciding what to do."

"But-" Kíli begins, and Bilbo recognizes that particular kind of panic.

"Look," the gentle-hobbit whispers. "Thorin is your uncle, and he should have any expectations of you fighting anything _ that big _ on your own. He'll be _ much _ angrier if you try and hide this mess instead of just coming clean about a situation that was beyond your capability of handling. One of the first things you've got to learn to recognize is when you're out of your depth – right now, you are _ out of your depth_. The responsible thing to do now is to swallow your pride and _ get help. _"

Fíli and Kíli both stare at Bilbo for a moment, but Kíli eventually nods and lowers his hand.

"As your _ burglar _ ," Bilbo continues in a firm whisper. "I am going to go scout ahead to learn about this situation and see what I can do. You two need to _ go back _ and _ get help _. Agreed?"

The dwarf brothers nod.

"Go!" Bilbo whispers, shooing them with a few flicks of his hands. "There's no time to lose."

They scurry off silently, weaving through the trees and out of sight, leaving Bilbo behind. The gentle-hobbit turns to look towards the light – the fire – and lets his knack, which feels stretched out, grumpy, and wholly bent out of shape, wrap around him. It's somehow... _harder _to make himself Unnoticeable, like... like an actual _effort_, which is strange and definitely _new. _His knack has always been mostly endless before... except... no, now is not the time.

Bilbo moves forward on silently feet towards multiple trolls, and tries not to think about how 'out of his depth' _ he _is.

* * *

The important thing to remember about trolls, the _really _important thing, is that they may be big and lumbering and dim, but they can also be very clever. They could be clever in the worst kind of way, like bullies, the kind of cunning that is only used to be cruel, crude, and disgustingly foul. Bilbo Baggins did not know this, but he _did_ know that trolls apparently had the Noticing abilities of rocks and disagreed so much that he might have been able to wander right up to the ponies even if he weren't Unnoticeable.

To be fair, to a troll's mind, things as small as Bilbo make for very pitiful meals and are therefore would not be much worth noticing. And to be fair, Bilbo had a rather extraordinary knack, trolls can actually be quite sharp.

It was unfathomably easy to focus on scouting out a trolls' camp while his mind was still partly stuck on his Unnoticeable-ness stretching to cover Fíli and Kíli, as well as the odd environment-blending abilities of the trolls. They weren't using them now of course, but it was hardly something Bilbo could just forget.

Their camp was surprisingly bare, although Bilbo would not have called himself an expert as to the belongings of trolls. There was little more than beech logs for sitting on around a cauldron over a fire, which contained something beyond Bilbo's height of knowing. As the trolls rumbled and argued between each other, revealing that the ruined farmhouse really was of their doing, the gentle-hobbit decided that he was better off not knowing. Besides, the troll that was stirring the unknown food had just sneezed in it, and Bilbo had no desire to see troll snot in any situation.

Fortunately for Bilbo, the trolls had not decided to immediately eat the four ponies they'd stolen and instead corralled the creatures off to the side of their camp. Unfortunately for Bilbo, since the trolls had probably just recently set up camp and were hardly master builders, the corral was made of stacked trees that the trolls had likely knocked over – the ponies were quite boxed in.

Since none of the ponies could jump the trees and were probable not very proficient climbers, and since Bilbo could move trees with his mind about as easily as he could fly like a bat, there was little to be done by the burglar. So Bilbo, still Unnoticeable, crept away from the troll camp and left the giant beings to their crude quarrel and their thumping about that he could still sense at the back of his mind, in all their largeness and predatory feel.

The hobbit found the dwarves not far into the trees from the trolls' camp, all thirteen of them. Bilbo let his stretched Unnoticeable-ness unwind from around him and could, for the first time in his memory, practically hear it sigh in tired relief as it did so. Then the gentle-hobbit stepped out from behind a tree to join the dwarves, none of whom heard his approach.

"The burglar _ will _be back. He said he'd go ahead to scout it out," Kíli insisted to the group, but mainly in the direction of his silent and stone-faced uncle; Fíli nods in agreement.

"Are you so certain that the burglar truly did go ahead to scout out the camp? The halfling seems more the type to use this opportunity to run for the hills, if you ask me," Glóin grumbled.

"No one did," someone mutters under their breath.

Bilbo ignores the insult, he's heard worse. And honestly, he knows that if he actually had more intelligence and a little less honor, he actually _ would _have run for the hills. He sighs, making most of the dwarves around him jump. Fíli and Kíli smile at him, and Balin, Dwalin, and Nori eye him with a combination of interest, skepticism, and suspicion.

"So do you actually want to hear what I have to say or should I wait until you're done?" Bilbo drawls in a whisper, staring specifically at Thorin and trying to communicate the '_Are you seriously just going to let them say this shite about me?' _Thorin remains expressionless in a disapproving and grim sort of way – suitably dwarfish and prattish as usual - and doesn't reply.

Bilbo exhales, and then gives the dwarves the rundown of the situation: the trolls' arguing, the camp layout, the ponies tightly corralled. Surprising, the dwarves actually shut up and listen to him whisper quickly as the trolls' fire winks between trees in the distance for some time. He's just getting started on giving his opinion about how they should cut their losses and continue immediately onward (to Rivendell, to regain some of their losses and take a short rest) when Thorin ruins _ absolutely fucking everything _ about _ that _ idea _ . _

Apparently running isn't an option. Apparently Thorin's pony was one of the ponies taken. Apparently Thorin left the _ very, super, incredibly important _ map that is _ vital and not at all optional _ to their quest in one of his saddlebags. Yes, running like intelligent people _ would _isn't an option here.

Seriously, forget trolls and dragons, Bilbo is going to kill this damn dwarf himself.

* * *

A little later, perhaps an hour or so, a hobbit comes running back to where the Company had set up camp on quick and quiet furry feet. The only sound is a litany of:

"Damn it damn it, shite, damn it, shite. Trolls – why did it have to be big-arse trolls with the bloody shitting ability to blend into the bloody, _ bloody _ trees? Damn it all, the shite."

Then the hobbit grabbed a few things and was running back into the trees, followed by a continuous stream of:

"Damn dwarves, damn Thorin, _ fucking _ _Thorin_, damn Gandalf – where the fucking bloody hills is the wizard _ anyway – _ damn bearded _ insensible, incomprehensible, idiotic tw- _"

You get the idea.

* * *

It _ could _ have gone fine. In another world perhaps, also with a hobbit and dwarves and trolls, everything _c__ould _ have gone fantastically. Bilbo could have been a first-class burglar and managed to pick the trolls' pockets, pinched their stew, purloined the few barrels of beer, gotten that bloody map, and then walked off with all four of the ponies without the trolls' noticing him. Then the night could have been spent cheerily.

But no, Bilbo had somehow been talked into going back for the map on his own, then made himself Unnoticeable and hopped off to fetch it while the dwarves hid in the trees. He'd almost had it, having had to climb over the stacked tree corral and onto Thorin's pony's back (Bungo was the pony's name and Bilbo didn't know _ where _ to even _ start _ with _ that _ ) to get to the saddlebag. It had taken him quite awhile to lose the dwarves' Notice, then _actual time _to make himself suitably Unnoticeable for once, even longer to climb the tree corral, and by then the dwarves were grumbling loud even for Bilbo to hear a few things, which was a definite sign that things weren't going to end well.

Then one of the trolls had decided that troll snot stew wasn't good enough and that he felt like a pony, so he'd reached in and picked up Bungo-the-Pony out of _ all four _ . Bilbo had only _ just _ managed to get off the pony's back in time to avoid being crushed, but one of his feet had caught in _ Valar knew what _ , so Bilbo had ended up hanging _ upside down _ and _ desperately _Unnoticeable from a troll-held pony.

(No one is going to believe _ anything _ he says when he gets back, he is _ sure. _)

He isn't sure what happened next, since his head had felt slightly rushed and he'd been upside down, but he knows that he came loose and dropped to the ground just before the troll was forced to drop the pony. (He thinks Kíli might have shot the troll's wrist.) Then a fight between the three trolls and the thirteen dwarves happened and it was all Bilbo could do to scrabble off the ground and run to the trees to avoid getting _ trampled _in the chaos.

(He has no place in a battle, he knows this.)

Then, _ oh then _ , Bilbo got to see the terrible knacks of trolls truly in action. Suddenly the dwarves were faced with massive lumbering beings that fade in and out of the trees and night, with _ swooping _arms and hands from nowhere. Terrible creatures that flickered with camouflage and were strangely hard to see at times, even in the firelight. The dwarves, even as fiercely as they fought and as hard as they concentrated, had looked confused and become uncoordinated as their Notice horns alternated between sounding and merely blowing air.

The trolls had gone _**THUMP** _ as they fought, rattling the ground.

It had taken quite awhile, as the fight had somehow been rather even matched, but _eventually_ one of the dwarves had been caught off guard by a troll, smiling monstrously in the orange firelight as it pounced from the trees while the other two kept the dwarves distracted. Then it hadn't been much longer before Bilbo was made intensely unaware that he was completely unarmed. (_He left all his weapons at camp, how is he giving **anyone** advice? _ ) A little longer still, actually quite awhile due to pure dwarfish stubbornness and terrible cooperation even being threatened, and all of the dwarves had been in _ sacks _and the angry and injured trolls joyously and cruelly debating the merits of jelly versus roasting.

Bilbo after staring at the unbelievable sight for a bit, had finally to run back to camp to grab his bow and quiver and knife – which he'd left behind because he's a twit and all of his elf friends are going to give him _ so _ much shite for if they ever find out – because he can hardly be expected to do anything alone _ and _unarmed. He's supposed to be a _burglar_, not a bloody miracle worker.

If Gandalf comes back, Bilbo is going to kick him in the shins after he finishes punching Thorin's ridiculously majestic profile a black and bloody blue.

* * *

The trolls have sorted the dwarves into piles it seems, with Dwalin, Bofur, and all three of the Ri brothers by the spit. The rest are more spread out off to the side nearby, with Bifur and Fíli furthest out. The three still captured ponies are corralled tightly and unhappily by the uprooted trees; Bungo-the-Pony was sensible and ran for it apparently.

Bilbo, after over an hour of debating _what the bloody hills to do _while the trolls debated _how to cook the dwarves,_ decides that the best course of action is to free the dwarves out by the edges and distract the trolls so the freed dwarves can do the rest. Meanwhile, the trolls eventually decide to roast the dwarves over the fire and eat them later; so they get started on that, and Bilbo tries to hurry up expanding on his plan. Unfortunately, the best idea he can think of that will distract all three trolls is to get them angry enough to all come after him, which would definitely put his running abilities and Unnoticeable-ness to the test. Even with his knack though, which is still feeling horribly tired and stretched actually, it sounds like a really dumb idea.

_ But I don't have another one and the damn wizard is gone _ , Bilbo thinks to himself, trying to rustle the courage to do the _ stupidest _ thing he had ever conceived. Really, no one is going to believe anything he says _ if _he gets back.

He wraps his knack firmly around him, mentally apologizing for the stretch and strain he's put on it tonight. It's so stretched that his knack feels more like a bed sheet instead of a cloak or coat, which most would agree, is not terribly easy to run about in. His Unnoticeable-ness also feels remarkably tired and worn - _so bloody tired - _and he feels like he and it need a great deal of rest and relaxation. It's like... like when he made Bag End Unnoticeable, although different. Did his knack's energy go into wrapping around the dwarf brothers, like it did his home?

Bilbo makes his way to behind the tree where Fíli and Bifur are propped anyway, because he signed a contract and he can't exactly sit and wait for his knack to come back entirely since the trolls are actually going to roast his travelling companions now. He wonders if the dwarves think he's abandoned them, it's been quite awhile since they've seen him and the sound of their grumbling agrees.

"Fíli, it's Bilbo. Don't say anything, don't move, just listen," he whispers, trying to shift his Unnoticeable-ness just so so that the trolls don't have a chance of hearing him but so that he can still be heard (not that it really matters with all the protests the rest of the dwarves are making, and the bickering between the trolls). "Alright, if you're hearing me now, nod."

Fíli's golden-haired head nods. Bilbo is taking that as a good sign; he's prepared to take every small victory he gets.

"I'm going to try and get you out of this, but I'm going to need some cooperation. Bifur, can you hear me as well? Nod if you can."

Bifur nods.

"Right, so my plan is to cut you two loose, but you _ don't _move. Then I distract the trolls and you two free the others. It's a terrible plan, really, but I don't have any better ideas. Do either of you two have any better ideas or know of anything useful against trolls? Any weaknesses?"

Apparently not... although, Fíli suggests going for the ankles and the back of the knees.

It was worth a shot.

* * *

"'Ere Bert, I don't like tha'way that'un is starin' at me," one of the trolls complains, watching the nearest pile of dwarves in sacks with wary eye. "Right creepy, 'e is. Why don't we put tha'sacks over th'heads?"

"'Cuz then their feet would stick out, y'buggering booby," 'Bert' grumbles, setting up the last parts of the roasting spit. "Remember th'last time when one trie'ta run away wearin' a sack?"

"Ran right into a tree, 'e did. Jus' ignore 'im, Tom," says the last troll.

"'E's starin' though, I don't like it."

_ Now or never. _

"So if you wants to-"

"Well, it's just that you're all so hideously ugly that it's hard to take your eyes off of."

The three trolls turn, faces in various shades of disbelief, to see Bilbo standing at the very edge of the treeline (with a _ much _paler face than usual, but the trolls don't know that). The dwarves that can manage it in their sacks stare at him with open mouths, except Fíli and Bifur. Fíli looks rather amazed and scared, while Bifur grins broadly - an axe in the head would probably make you a bit mad like that.

"Or maybe it's just that you're all so stupid that it's making him speechless, so idiotic that a person can't help but stare," Bilbo continues, sounding fearless but really very much _ not_. His hands are white-knuckled where he has an arrow notched on his bow.

He's incredibly nervous, and his knack as fluttering about wildly again in response. It keeps trying to lash out towards the trolls while Bilbo is desperately attempting to keep their attention, so the gentle-hobbit had to silently wrangle his uncooperative and misbehaving knack. Now is _ really not _the time for his warped knack to be acting up.

"If I didn't already know of the stupidity of trolls, although you three do _ really _outdo the reputation, I'd be staring speechless myself."

'Bert' finally regains his powers of speech. "Shut yer mouth, ye little... uh..."

"Hobbit," Bilbo supplies condescendingly, looking up at them down his nose. Which is actually both harder and easier than one might think.

"...hobbit!"

'Tom' blinks. "What's a hobbit?"

"Oh, very quick and clever creatures," Bilbo informs them knowledgeably. "It takes at least three trolls to catch one, but by what I've seen, it would take at least three more of you idiots to get even close to me."

Even in the orange firelight, the trolls faces start to screw up in anger and go red, moving a little closer towards Bilbo – Bilbo steps back a bit.

"It's rather disappointing actually," the gentle-hobbit continues. "I was looking forward to a good chase, but here you are who can't even manage to properly roast dwarves. Tsk tsk, trolls these days. I'd wager all three of you couldn't lay a finger on a hobbit like me."

"Oh, really?" the third troll rumbles threateningly.

"Really," Bilbo says.

Then the hobbit swings up the bow and shoots 'Bert' in the eye, which is impressive considering he was really just aiming in the general direction of the face. He's already running away, Unnoticeable-ness swirling around him as he bounds, when he hears the angry bellow of pain behind him. Actually, he expected to miss entirely, but he can't exactly just go back and apologize to a raging troll for accidentally on purpose shooting them in the eye.

_ **THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP.** _

"GET BACK HERE!"

Bilbo runs, zigging off in another direction immediately, then zagging in another and running some more. His heart is leaping to his throat again and again as trees fall, trolls roar, and the ground shakes beneath him like a drum beat. Even Unnoticeable, as much as he can manage, if the trolls get close enough they could crush him accidentally.

_ **THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP.** _

"WHERE ARE YER, Y'LITTLE BUGGERIN' HOBBIT?!"

As soon as Bilbo figures he and the trolls are far enough apart, and the trolls have stopped running after him, having no sign of him at all, he notches another arrow and creeps towards the nearest troll knack he can Notice. They're spread out a bit, but within sight of each other in the trees, and looking around angrily.

_ **THUMP THUMP – ** _CRASH.

'Bert' is at the forefront, unsurprisingly the most raging, and has just knocked a tree over. Bilbo is behind and off to the side of them, as they search wildly for him, panting and huffing, skin flickering with bark and leaves.

"SHOW YERSELF!" Bert roars with a stomp, _ **THUMP** _, arrow swiveling around madly with his eye. "Y'LITTLE WRETCH!" Tom and the third troll stare a bit worriedly at him.

Bilbo raises his bow, prays to Yavanna and any of the other Valar that are listening, and puts an arrow in the underside of Tom's shoulder. Then he books it as Tom yowls with pain, throwing a hand up and crashing against something. Bilbo doesn't stick around to find out what.

"THA' BUGGERIN' WRETCH!"

_ **THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP. ** _

Bilbo runs, turning immediately then turning again, and holding his fluttering and exhausted knack closely around him. His Unnoticeable-ness is trying to hide him, he's shifting it so, but keeps simultaneously trying to lash out at the trolls like an overexcited fauntling causing mischief. _ What the bloody hills. _

_ **THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP.** _

Bilbo loses all track of time, playing this bait and run game with the trolls amongst the trees. He'll lose them, sometimes just barely by a breath of his knack, then shoot at one of them, and the running will start all over again. The trolls just get angrier and angrier, as more and more arrows are sticking out of various places like behind their ears, in their back fat, and sticking out of their arms and legs. Eventually, Bilbo loses most of his sense of direction as well, and is having trouble trying to keep it all straight.

_ Can't go that way, that's back towards the dwarves, _ Bilbo thinks, trying not to focus on what exactly he's doing and instead on his knack and running. _ Ponies are in that direction, I think, and the campsite is over there. This way, this way, this way. TROLL! OH BLOODY FUCK, not that way! _

_ **THUMP THUMP THUMP. ** _

Bilbo dodges one of the trolls by a breath, nearly mistaking the moving mass for a space between trees that the being blends into _perfectly_. The troll swoops as Bilbo goes by, reaching for the hobbit as Bilbo runs with a loud bell sound ringing, sending echoes through the gentle-hobbit's head, that Bilbo faintly realizes must be the troll version of Notice bells.

These trolls, so _very _angry and furious at him, are seeing through his Unnoticeable-ness.

_ They can **Notice **him. _

"OI! 'E'S GONE THIS WAY! BERT! TOM! OVER HERE!"

_ **THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP.** _

His knack is weak, so weak, it's actually _ failing him_. Him, Bilbo Baggins, the '_naturally Unnoticeable' hobbit._

"Y'BUGGERIN' HOBBIT!"

Bilbo runs.

_ **THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP. ** _

"THERE Y'ARE!"

The ground shakes behind him with the weight of the raging, running trolls, following him and shouting angrily. Bilbo can _ feel _all three of their Notice bells, huge and heavy and ringing through his head like their footsteps thunder through the earth.

_ **THUMP THUMP THUMP. ** _

And then he runs out of trees – bursting out into an open plain of grass and distant rocks. His knack is battered and stretched and weak, and he can hear its velvety folds trying to keep him Unnoticeable but also feeling _ so _ apologetic. The gentle-hobbit trips, his bow goes flying and his face meets the shuddering ground as the trolls bursts from out of the tree line directly behind him.

_Luck and knacks have to run out eventually, _a part of Bilbo rationalizes hopelessly, pulling what remnants of his Unnoticeable-ness that he has around him as the first cache of dawn light shines from just behind a rock formation.

_ **TH-** _

Bilbo waits for... he doesn't really know actually, but something horrible. These are creatures that were talking about making dwarf jelly after all. It takes him about twenty seconds of silence and still ground to realize that the heavy presences of the trolls have suddenly vanished from his knack senses, which he will later attribute entirely to fully believing he was about to die. Bilbo peels his face from the grass and looks behind him, then up.

Just a bit behind and mostly above him are three monstrous trolls, hideously ugly as always and looming as they reach for him. Bert, the one with the arrow in his eye, has his hand about five feet from Bilbo's legs. Only the arrow is now stone, and so is Bert.

All three of the trolls have turned completely to stone, lit by the rays of the early dawn sun.

Bilbo stares for a bit, then plants his face back in the grass and tries to decide whether or not to laugh or cry because _ the world has got to be kidding him. _

* * *

_Here be monstrous trolls._  
_Three of them, when we begin._  
_And by the end, none._


End file.
